When Renly is born Ostara is nine years old and not quite sure what to think about the little screaming bundle in her mother's arms. It's not that she doesn't want a brother, Ostara already has two, and she's seen babies before. She just thinks Renly is strange.

He's soft and squishy and his eyes are an unnerving grey that will eventually settle into another color.

Ostara loves him though.

And she makes that as obvious as possible.

She transfigures stones and leaves into little trinkets to decorate the nursery, she reads to him from her books, and even plays with him as best she can between her lessons and other activities. Stannis doesn't have much of an opinion of Renly, says he's too young for anything like that, but Ostara thinks that Renly might end up being her second favorite sibling after her older, more stoic brother.

But the two of them are still siblings and Ostara can only take so much.

Today is one of those days.

Renly has been crying for some time now and no matter what they do he won't stop.

So Ostara snaps her book shut, stomps over to her brother's bassinet where their mother has placed him for the time being, and leans over to scowl at him. Renly whimpers and thrusts his arms up, little face scrunched up with discomfort and very, very red from crying.

"What do you want?" Ostara demands, trying not to get angry.

He's just a baby.

This isn't his fault.

If he could speak Ostara has no doubt he'd tell her or their mother what he wants but unfortunately he still has a while before he's capable of doing such so Ostara and the rest of them just have to make due. They've already eliminated hunger as he didn't take to the wet nurse's breast and Maester Kollion has ruled out illness, so really it's just one of those days where Renly's going to have to cry himself out.

But Ostara doesn't want him to have to.

Instead of answering Renly merely stretches his arms out further, grasping at the air under the strands of dark, curling hair, and sobs harder.

"Mother will be back shortly," Ostara remarks, "you'll just have to wait."

But Renly's sobbing and reaching for her and something in her is yelling, screaming at her to pick up the babe and hold him and rock him and give him the world. Ostara can't really fight against it. Not when her brother is so upset and no one else is around. So she reaches into the bassinet, slips her hand beneath a soft head and a rump, and pulls the babe up into her arms.

His weight is light enough to not hinder her as Ostara makes her way over to the chair near the fire and by the time she's settled her brother into her lap he's stopped screaming, too occupied with sucking the end of a braid into his mouth.

"You," Ostara remarks blandly, "are disgusting."

Renly just stares at her through unsettled eyes and continues to suck on her hair.

Ostara lets him, because she wants to read her book and her hair is clean enough and it's not hurting either of them. When her mother returns Ostara will pass Renly off but until then she has to keep the younger boy occupied. And if letting him suck on her hair is going to do that then Ostara's more than willing... Besides, it's not like he can hurt himself.

And that's how their mother finds them moments later when she enters the room with Steffon in tow. A nine year old girl in a lavender dress and a book nearly half her size in one hand and a squirming, giggling mass in the other. Steffon laughs as he scoops Renly out of her arms and presses a chaste kiss to Ostara's forehead.

Cassana merely watches and smiles.

~X~

"Did you hear? Queen Rhaella is pregnant." Cerys says one night as the two of them lounge in Ostara's bed.

"And how do you know that?" Ostara asks, eyes sharp.

Cerys smiles, "Mother overheard cook talking about it."

"Well," Ostara remarks after a long moment. "I'm happy for her."

And she is.

Queen Rhaella is a kind woman who Ostara has grown rather fond of in the years since the betrothal was announced. She deserves any happiness she can get. But there's a part of Ostara that wonders what will happen if the babe growing in Rhaella's belly is a girl.

Nothing horrible, at worst the betrothal between Rhaegar and herself will be broken and even then there will be no love lost. Aside from the letters and books the two have occasionally sent back and forth neither of them really knows the other. Their relationship can be described as almost friends at the very best. So even if the betrothal is called off Ostara won't be loosing anything important to her.

But she'd overheard her mother and father discussing Aerys just the other night and she's come to realize that the Targaryen King has formed something of an obsession with her.

Whether that obsession is a product of Ostara's diluted Targaryen heritage or not is impossible to tell.

Not even her father knows. And Steffon Baratheon is rather close to the King as well as the Hand, both of whom he makes an effort to correspond with at least once a week.

"Do you think it will survive?" Cerys asks.

"Impossible to say, I suppose." Ostara replies as she runs her fingers over Rubeus' head.

The Shadow Cat rumbles happily, wiggles onto Ostara's lap, and settles once more into light slumber.

Cerys reaches over to scratch him between his shoulders. They've grown relatively close, Cerys and Rubeus. But Ostara isn't surprised by that and takes very little offense. Even when the heat her companion's body supplies disappears when he rolls over to curl against Cerys.

"Would you hate me if I said I hope it does?"

"No, of course not, Cerys."

"Good. Because I want it to."

Without thinking Ostara reaches out to take her friend's hand.

"Me too." She admits.

And silence lapses between them before Cerys speaks again.

"Ostara?"

"Yes?"

"What will happen when you leave for King's Landing?" Cerys asks.

"I don't know if I am leaving Cerys." Ostara says. "If the babe is a girl it's likely King Aerys will call off the betrothal."

"But are you not a Targaryen as well? In a way?"

"Not the kind of Targaryen he wants."

"Oh."

Ostara turns her head to smile at her friend. In the moonlight Ostara can just make out the sheen of Cerys' hair and the curve of her nose.

"Don't worry. If I do end up leaving King's Landing is close enough that I can come visit when I please." Ostara whispers.

"I'm glad."

The younger girl doesn't say that if she does go to King's Landing then she has every intention of bringing Cerys with her. Because she'll need a friend in King's Landing that she knows is loyal to her.

Because there won't be many.

Rhaegar, perhaps, if they end up married, but his loyalty will be more of a duty than anything else. If Ostara's given ladies-in-waiting then they will be strangers to her and unlikely to be completely loyal to Ostara. Which is why she wants Cerys. Because Cerys is her closest true friend and she's loyal enough to Ostara that the dark haired girl wouldn't have to worry about her divulging secret information. That, and she's more of a sister to Ostara than anything else.

But Ostara will not be able to take Cerys to King's Landing without her father's permission and that is an unlikely thing with the Capital being as dangerous as it is.

"Do you think Adam is attractive?"

Ostara nearly chokes on her spit as she rolls to face her friend.

"Adam Storm? The scullery maid's son? That Adam?" Ostara demands.

"Yes, do you think he is attractive?"

"No." Ostara intones, "I think he's a self absorbed prick."

And it's not a lie.

Adam Storm would have been fairly handsome if he hadn't been such a gods damned ass about it.

The fact that Cerys thinks he's attractive is almost enough to make Ostara puke.

"Oh come now, he's not that bad."

"Cerys, I love you and I support you but what the hell do you see in him?" Ostara demands.

"I just think he's attractive is all." Cerys is smiling, Ostara can practically feel it. "I think he'd make very attractive babes."

And Ostara groans loudly as she flops back onto the bed.

"First, you don't need babes, they're loud and they're messy and you'll never sleep, second, if you give me a few years I'll find you a much more attractive husband." Ostara promises.

And Cerys giggles as she leans over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek.

"Sometimes I forget you're only nine. You speak as adults do." Cerys giggles.

"Fortunately I think as adults do too." Ostara remarks.

She ignores the amused giggling beside her in favor of purging the image of Cerys and Adam from her mind.

~X~

Ostara dreams of rotting bodies, of twisted faces and haunted eyes. She dreams of a tall, gaunt creature with milk white skin- paler even, than the Queen's- and eyes so blue and so cold they burn, burn, burn.

They are not pleasant dreams.

Beautiful, in a way. With a world made of snow and ice with little cities of tents, the bond fires built by the people living in those tents glowing fiercely against the stark blackness of the night sky. Yes, beautiful. But even beauty cannot distract from the wretchedness that Ostara finds herself witnessing.

Men and women and children being cut down and slaughtered by the dead, mangled creatures that charged across the barren snow covered ground in front of them, clearing a path for the gaunt, white skinned creatures lingering behind the hoard of dead things.

Ostara watches, eyes wide and filled with horror, as the men and women that are cut down twitch and scream and grow very, very quiet before slowly rising to join the creatures that slaughtered them.

Almost like Inferi, Hermione would say.

It's not a pleasant thought, because Hermione had faced Inferi before, she'd seen what those poor, twisted souls were capable of. And this? This is much, much worse. Because at least Ostara understands the Infiri, she understands their motives. But do these creatures have the same motives? Are they forced to tear children apart and slaughter entire families? Or do they enjoy this? Do they like hurting these people?

Ostara watches as the little tents burn, an orange haze coloring the sky as the stench or roasting flesh makes her eyes water.

And then there is something gripping at her shoulder, bony fingers clamping tight, the chill of rotting flesh seeping through her clothing. Whoever has grabbed her collapses, its grip firm enough to drag her down alongside, and she can't use her magic. Can't summon that great power that had followed her from her life before and settled in this new body. Can't summon it because there's nothing to summon.

This is not her body.

This is some poor soul who has been caught between a rock and a hard place, forced to hide as best she can and watch as her little clan is torn to shreds.

The creature, freshly killed, looms over her mouth opened wide to display red soaked teeth. It wraps its hand around her throat, digging its finger nails in until the skin breaks enough for the creature to dig his fingers into the wound, hook his fingers, and pull.

~X~

Ostara wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of blood soaked nightclothes clinging to her thighs. She groans, careful not to wake the sleeping beast on the bed beside her as she reaches for the wand resting on the bedside table. The blood is gone in seconds, cleaned away by a spell Hermione Granger had learned from a seventh year Huffelpuff when she's accidentally bled through her hygiene product in her second year.

She'll have to tell her mother about this.

There's no small amount of annoyance though. Because Ostara is ten years old and she's already been through puberty one, twice now that she's been born again, and it's not an experience she wants to relive. But she thinks that things could have been much much worse. She could have ended up being born a boy... Then she'd have to suffer the unknown.

This, she decides as she summons herself the special linens that will line her small clothes, is not so terrible as to warrant anything more than annoyance.

"Come, Rubeus." Ostara commands, patting her hand against the side of her thigh.

The Shadow Cat glares at her for a moment before rolling over to push himself to the feet.

Once he's settled at Ostara's side the girl pulls open the door, steps out into the corridor, and makes her way toward her parents' chambers. All the while she thinks of what the possible outcomes of her bleeding will be.

She's only ten and not much younger than Hermione Granger had been when she'd first started to bleed. This isn't what worries her. The fact that she is ten means very little in comparison to the fact that she will be expected to travel to King's Landing as some point in the coming months, perhaps even years. It's impossible to say what with Queen Rhaella's pregnancy.

There are only a few months left before the baby is expected to be born and it is unlikely Ostara's father will send her to the capital until some time after the babe has been born.

So, if Ostara is being honest with herself, it is unlikely she will be going to King's Landing for some time after. Long enough to begin growing a woman's body and long enough to determine whether or not the babe will live long enough to be seen as a true Targaryen. By then Ostara will be well into her fourteenth summer, a woman grown, but even then it will be a year or so before she and Rhaegar marry.

Even now at ten years Ostara would not be expected to wed and bed her betrothed.

Ostara purses her lips and knocks on the door leading to her parents' solar.

It takes a mere two minutes before the door slides open to reveal a tired eyed Cassana Baratheon.

"Ostara, darling girl, are you unwell?" Her mother asks, bending slightly to run her fingers through wild brown curls.

"I've begun my first womanly cycle." Ostara replies, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt.

"Oh, I see... Come in, there's no use staying out in the corridor."

As her mother moves away Ostara steps into the solar, Rubeus at her heels, and quickly makes her way over to the chair near the fireplace. It's her mother's chair, her favorite to be precise. She tends to sit and embroider there when she has the time.

Ostara runs the pad of her finger over the arm of the chair, feeling the raised edges of fine embroidery, and waits for her mother to begin speaking.

"Are you feeling unwell, Ostara?" Her mother asks. "If so I can call upon Maester Kollion."

"There is no need, I feel no pain."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it... You've spoken to the Septa about this, yes? About what is happening?"

"I am a woman now. I will marry and give my husband heirs."

Her mother makes a face.

"Not for some time, pet."

"Then you should tell that to the Septa as she's under the impression that I will wed Rhaegar Targaryen tomorrow and give him a son days later."

"That won't be happening for some time yet." Her mother states.

And she says it so firmly that Ostara is forced to think that behind closed doors her parents have discussed this exact situation. So do they have a plan then? Will they educate Ostara from Storm's End and send her to King's Landing when she is summoned? Do they intend to search for other matches should the betrothal to Rhaegar Targaryen fail?

Ostara presses her lips together, tries not to frown.

This entire situation is giving her a headache.

"Will they be told? The King and Queen?"

"They will have to be told, until Queen Rhaella has her babe you are still considered Rhaegar's betrothed and as such it will be important for the King to be made aware of your development as a woman."

"Will everyone know?" Ostara demands almost bitterly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Your betrothal is hardly a secret Ostara and King's Landing is full of men and woman seeking to better their station. I cannot promise that this will remain a secret but then... There is nothing shameful about this Ostara. You do understand that do you not?" Cassana reaches out to run the pad of her thumb over Ostara's cheek.

"I suppose not..."

"Are you worried about your betrothal Ostara?"

"Yes and no. It is not the betrothal that frightens me."

Because I have magic and power beyond recon and no one can hurt me unless I let them... Not this time... Not after everything that's happened.

"Then what?"

"If this betrothal falls through, if Rhaegar is given a sister to wed, what will happen then? Will we be mocked? Will our house be ridiculed? Mocked? I do not want that for us."

Her mother laughs, shakes her head, and says, "Nothing quite so serious will happen. You will either marry the Prince or you will not. Either way it does not matter for you are our daughter and the daughter of a great house. You will be given a proper, suitable match... One that might very well make you happy?"

"Do you believe Rhaegar will make me unhappy, mother?"

Something sad crosses into her mother's gaze.

"There is no true happiness for those that wear the crown, Ostara," Her mother frowns as she speaks. "You might be happy for a moment, you might be happy for months but in the end... Sometimes the price we pay is not worth the power."

"I see."

And she supposes she does. Heavy lies the Crown and all that. She's never truly heard of a happy King or Queen, not even in Hermione's world where people were freer with their wants and dreams. It is dangerous to be happy in King's Landing. Dangerous because there is not but liars and sinners and monsters lurking in the shadows of the Red Keep, each one waiting for the right moment to grab the edge of the rug and rip it from beneath the King or Queen's feet.

Ostara glances at the fire roaring away to her left, barely listening to her mother who is talking about underthings and sex and what will be expected of her now that she is no longer a child. It's all a distant, hazy, background noise.

Because Ostara does not care.

This is nothing new and she will not force herself to sit through another lecture that she's heard so many times before.

~X~

"It's exciting isn't it?" Cerys giggles nearly three months later.

"What is?"

"You've become a woman now... Soon you might even be Queen."

"I suppose?"

Cerys smiles as she runs her fingers over the gown that has been delivered from Dorn. A gift from Princess Roshana, who just so happens to be on relatively friendly terms with Cassana.

The dress is a lovely coral color and embroidered with golden flowers native to the deserts of Dorne. Tight at the breasts and middle but loose at the sleeves and hips, leaving vibrant silk to billow everywhere but at her wrists where her sleeves have been sewn to gather. It is a dress made for a woman, not a child, and for a moment Ostara is almost resentful of how quickly she is developing as a woman.

"Will you wear it some time? Just for me to see? I've... I've never seen a gown so finely made."

A blush, dark red and forged from embarrassment, stains Cerys' rounded cheeks.

Without thought Ostara snatches up the dress and moves behind the dressing screen.

She strips out of her gown and small clothes before donning the Dornish gown. It is not meant to be worn with anything beneath, making Ostara feel a bit more uncomfortable then she would like to admit. But she has to admit that the dress will be pleasant to wear should she ever be forced to suffer summer heat. It doesn't happen often what with Ostara's spells and charms but... There are occasions.

Once the gown is on Ostara steps out from behind the dressing screen.

"You look... Amazing." Cerys awes.

"I look like a whore."

"You look like a proper Dornish woman."

"To some there is not much of a difference between the two."

Cerys laughs, "I suppose not but you do look very beautiful."

"And you are a liar."

The older girl shakes her head, moves across the room, and turns Ostara so that she might see herself in the mirror hanging against her wall.

She is met with sharp cheekbones, full lips, and a willowy figure.

Ostara will never be like Johanna Lannister or Queen Rhaella. She will never have large breasts and sex appeal dripping from her but... Ostara is, to an extent, beautiful. Willowy but not so thin as to be considered boyish, her breasts are large enough to be noticeable but not big enough to cause issues, her hips are curved but not voluptuous. She is beautiful but she is not otherworldly.

For that, Ostara is thankful.

She is otherworldly enough with her eyes and the powers.

"You are lovely, it was kind of Princess Roshana to do this." Cerys breathes.

"Speaking of gifts." Ostara rushes over to the wardrobe where she has hidden the gift she's made specially for Cerys.

The ten year old holds out the box.

"Ostara..."

"I know it's early but your name's day is coming up and you've been such a good friend to me that I wanted to give you something special... Especially as I might not always be here."

"Ostara I can't..."

"Just... Just open it. Please."

With trembling fingers the blonde carefully pulls open the box to reveal the stone Ostara has spent months carving and layering charm upon charm on. It's nothing more than a rock Ostara found while playing outside with Stannis. It's a dull blue color with little speckles of white along the top. Ostara has spent months carving it into a perfectly round circle with a hole in the middle and she's spent even longer layering every protective spell and rune she knows onto that fucking stone.

So when Cerys does not move to take the stone necklace from the box Ostara does.

She reaches out to pull the thick leather cord over Cerys' neck and slips it into the space between girl's bodice and her breasts.

"It will bring you luck and protection." Ostara explains.

"Ostara I... Thank you!"

"It's nothing."

"All the same."

Ostara smiles, reaching out to take Cerys' hand in hers.

"You did not have to give me anything, Ostara."

"I know," She says, "I wanted to."

The smile Cerys gives her is warm. Like the pies Hermione Granger's mother would make on special occasions. Like butter bear. Like little Teddy Lupin curling into her side as Hermione Granger read him fairy tales from an old book her grandfather gave her when she was a little girl.

It's simple and it's full of kindness.

And Ostara Baratheon thinks that even if she cannot take Cerys with her to King's Landing then at leas the blonde will have some sort of protection. Even if it's coming from a magical artifact. It's certainly better than nothing in Ostara's most humble opinion.