Chapter Text
He had been quite a decent man. Decent and an atheist. So he had no great expectations. One day he would simply die, like every other person, be cremated, and his urn sent beneath a plainly marked gravestone. So you can imagine how shocked he was when something actually happened. His astral self or soul, if you will, sat in the middle of an empty space, encircled by towering, colossal figures. Thunderous voices argued and debated, paying little attention to his insignificant self. What if he… just left? Surely this was a mistake. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He turned and hit an invisible barrier head on.
“Mvuhaha, where do you think you’re going, little one?! We haven’t yet decided how to send you on your way.”
The man tilted his head far back to meet the gaze of the giant above him. Still wearing the bloody shirt and jeans he’d died in, struck by a car.
“This is some kind of mistake.”
“Mistake?” asked another figure, clearly female. The part of her face peeking from beneath her hood was a maze of wrinkles.
“Mistake, error, I don’t belong here, so… well, I’ll just go.”
“Hahahaha, hear that, old woman? He thinks it’s a mistake!” The booming laughter shook the entire space. Around the giant, fiery sparks burst like tiny fireworks. Each breath sounded like a furnace roaring. Rei could only hope he hadn’t somehow angered him. He kept his cool thanks to years of training, but if any of these giants wanted to crush him like an ant, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He really didn’t want to experience death twice in ten minutes. No, thank you.
“I hear you, R’hllor. The poor soul knows nothing. It’s time we told him the truth.”
R’hllor… R’hllor… R’hllor! He knew that name sounded familiar.
“The Lord of Light!?”
“That’s me! And you, little mortal, are my chosen one! Hahaha!”
R’hllor lifted Rei into his palm and showed him off to the others, as though presenting a particularly fine new brooch masterfully forged and set with rubies. The Crone brought her lantern closer, bathing his soul in a warm glow. They all stared at him like he was a fascinating insect. He was under the microscope, trapped no way out of that strange space, let alone from the fiery god’s palm. The fiery god from Game of Thrones. He remembered the TV show. The god, his red priestesses and priests, the burnings, the chosen one, the last Targaryens and what it all led to. This had to be the final flicker of his dying brain! A bad dream before true death.
“I’m not the Chosen One. Your Azor Ahai is Daenerys or Jon Snow! I’m Rei, just Rei, and I definitely don’t have a Targaryen middle name. This is a really stupid way to spend my last seconds alive.” He muttered the second half to himself, disappointed.
“These aren’t your last seconds, chosen one. They passed long before you awoke here.”
“Then what is this?”
“Your rebirth, little one.”
“What?”
A younger woman, resembling the Crone, leaned closer as if he hadn’t heard clearly from above. He had but he couldn’t grasp the meaning of her words.
“Rebirth. Rising from the ashes.”
“Azor Ahai always remains the same. A different prophecy, a different chosen one,” added a drowned man with seaweed tangled in his hair and shoulders. A chill crept down Rei’s spine when he met the man’s pale, lifeless eyes.
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“You’ve been chosen for a new prophecy!” Several gods politely applauded.
“What kind?” he asked suspiciously. He didn’t like this one bit. If this really was his new life, he didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything. A fate mapped out by prophecy was never a good thing.
“Oh, when the dance of the children of fire draws near, a hero shall rise to reunite the houses of the Fourteen. He shall bring peace and new life. With him, the new children of fire shall dance in love and pride. The hero shall come in the hour of the dragon, born from the ashes of Soryn and ancient blood!” recited the Many Faced God proudly, pleased to recall the entire patchwork of lines they had stitched together.
Rei stood frozen, stunned, trying to absorb the poem, words meant to be about him. He didn’t understand them. They made no sense. How?
“But fear not, our chosen one, for we shall each grant you something to aid you in your task,” soothed the Mother. Her words wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He didn’t want to feel calm, this was not a time for calm. It was the perfect time for panic, something he hadn’t felt in years, not counting the moment of his death.
“What task? What are you talking about?”
“Why, to bring back peace and new life, of course! Isn’t it obvious? Seems clear enough to me, uniting the houses and peace. Yes, sounds good.”
“Nothing about this is clear!”
“Then you’ll understand in time. The best lessons are learned on the go! Haha, enough talk let’s get to it!” commanded the Red God.
“Yes, yes! To the gifts! That’s always the best part!”
“I don’t want any gifts!”
“Want them or not, you’ll get them. Without them, you couldn’t complete your task.”
“I’ll go first! It’s a child of fire, after all it’s only fair! Haha! So, little man, I’ll give you the most important thing of all: a body in which you can breathe the fire of my people! Hahaha! A body worthy of respect and strength! Every child of fire should have one!”
“What?”
“I-I want another!” interrupted the Drowned God, shoving R’hllor aside. The manic gleam in his pale dead eyes only grew stronger.
“I, tiny mortal, grant you the sleepers from the deep. The fiery fool can’t have everything to himself, so your companions will be creatures from my realm, adapted to life in the skies. The Velaryons will turn green with envy when they see them! Just imagine, it’s never been done before!”
The Old Gods leaned in closer to get a better look. Rivers, forests, and mountains shifted freely across their forms.
“We grant you the talents of the old blood.”
“Hahaha, true, Old Gods, true! Not only will it protect him, but it’ll make the first stage easier. That Targaryen always had an eye for more power. When he sees him and our chosen one proves himself, he won’t be able to resist! Hahaha!" The space shook again under the booming laughter of the God of Fire and Light.
The sight of the shadowed Stranger filled him with dread. Luckily, his involvement was brief before it turned away and sank back into the rear ranks.
“Longevity to grant you enough time for all that must be done.”
The Warrior added mastery of weapons to his growing pile of skills. The Smith granted him craftsmanship. The Crone grinned mischievously and promised his old memories. The Maiden bestowed radiant beauty. The Mother gave him the gift of life’s creation, whatever that meant. The Father promised wisdom and the ability to learn from ancient texts.
The Many Faced God approached him with a reluctant grumble.
“I think your shoulders couldn’t bear any more combat skills. I’ll have to come up with something else. The Crone and Warrior beat me to it. So I’ll grant you the ability to understand all faces, regardless of their origin.”
Would he know languages, then? He’d always liked Valyrian while watching the show but not enough to actually learn it.
The Horse God promised riding skills. The Three Thousand Gods agreed that all the gifts at once would be too much to bear. So they decided he’d only awaken each one when he encountered their aspect in the new world. The gods of Asshai granted him resistance to the poisons of their flock. All contributed their share, and when they were done, the fiery heart spoke again.
“The immortal fire of Old Valyria must never fade, my chosen one. As you burn, so too must your name shine. You shall become Emrys with your first breath of smoke. Emrys of the house of tamers and lords of the Ashen Gardens. Your house shall be House Raenor, and you shall bear that name with honor along with the burden we have entrusted to you. For gods may only watch over their chosen, never walk the same earth as they. Through you, we send our blessing to all bleeding hearts!”
“No, wait! What blessing? I don’t want to be the chosen one! I didn’t ask for any of this!”
R’hllor chuckled one last time, good naturedly. It was the last thing he heard before the floor beneath him opened, and the god tossed him from his palm straight into the world, into the smoldering ruins of Old Valyria.
“Nooooo!”
A gust of wind tore another scream from his throat.
He fell and fell, the ground rushing closer too fast to think. All those divine gifts whirled through the air beside him, useless in his ignorance of how to use them. How was he supposed to be an immortal flame when he was about to splatter across Essos like a bug on a windshield? It wouldn’t be so different from his first death. Something he was quickly coming to terms with. Surely it couldn’t be worse!
It could.
The surface below sharpened into view, revealing a volcanic crater. He was falling straight into the bubbling maw of one of the Fourteen. Into the bay of black and red. Into fire and blood.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Whhhhssh. Aaaaaarrrghhhccchhh!"
The whole world held its breath, leaned closer, and peered into the beating heart of Old Valyria. Here and now, their new chosen one was being born. A child of House Raenor, destined to alter the course of Fate. The immortal flame. Forged from the right soul and an entire mountain of divine gifts. The sky bent nearer to witness, the seas frothed, forests rustled uneasily, and the mountains of Essos trembled perhaps in the last echo of the Catastrophe. An end that brings a new, promising beginning. And the old blood whispered into the wind:
~“Izun valhen aerys drakkon.”~ (From the searing breath, we are born anew.)