Ask me about any member of House Targaryen and I can tell you their relationship to any other member of House Targaryen. No, for real, I deadass made a family tree on the Ancestry app. Also, for interested parties, in a very short period of time, I will be twenty-five. My birthday's May 18th, for the record. Sucks to be stuck at home for it, but whatever. I've got my boyfriend and my cats.

Also, a note about this chapter, and indeed the entire Valyria arc: the Doom, as I've said before, was a massive volcanic event where the Thirteen Flames around Valyria erupted simultaneously, causing earthquakes, etc. The reason the city itself survived was actually similar to Pompeii's survival: it was buried in ash, thus preserving it. The destruction of the Doom was worsened by the Valyrians' magic becoming uncontrollable, sort of like a whole bunch of magical bombs going off. This resulted in a few different things, the main ones being that the weather around Valyria has something of a mind of its own. The gods that are real in this particular fic are left ambiguous, but there are definitely supernatural spirits at work here. Valyria was something of a hotbed of magical stuff before the Doom, and then when all that magic was released in ways it wasn't supposed to be, magic became kind of part of the environment itself, even more so than it was before the Doom. Because of this, it's easier for spirits, or gods, or whatever you want to think of them as (although there are definitely ghosts in Valyria) to control things like the weather. It is for this reason that we see Valyria not having been buried in ash, and why things are so well preserved even after the ash is gone: that magic is still lingering there, and the spirits or gods or whatever are helping it along.

Chapter Eighteen: Eruptions

I am burning brighter, roaring like a storm, and I am the one I've been waiting for. - Halestorm, I Am the Fire

The air around her was humming. It had always done that, for as long as she could remember. Viserys had slapped her whenever she mentioned it, and so she did her best to put it from her mind as a child. As she grew, it became easier to ignore the humming.

In this room, though, it was impossible to ignore it. The humming had amplified, and it she could hardly hear herself think.

It was strange; time seemed to stop in the room below her ancestral home. She was no longer hungry, although she had not eaten. She wasn't thirsty, either, and she'd been walking for hours. The room itself had been untouched for hundreds of years, and yet it was spotless. There was no dust anywhere, and the torches that had ignited when she stepped into it burned brightly. It was nothing like the rest of the house.

It was probably some form of magic, she surmised. What else could have preserved it so perfectly? Even so, she'd never heard of magic that strong. No one was entirely sure what the Doom had been, but how could one room have escaped it, much less books and dragon eggs.

The very idea that dragon eggs still existed in the world seemed ridiculous to Daenerys. She'd known there were at least three until her children hatched, of course, but for there to be so many- how was it possible?

The presence pushed her forward somehow, although it was by no means a rough push.

Not now, the presence seemed to say.

She noticed a small writing desk and chair in the corner of the room, intricately carved and painstakingly decorated. There were a number of books already resting on it, one laying open at the edge of the desk, next to an unlit candle. The desk, the books -the open one in particular- on it, they seemed to be glowing. Daenerys knew they weren't actually glowing, but she felt a need to examine them, to read them.

They spoke and wrote in High Valyrian in the Freehold; she should be able to read the books perfectly well, provided they didn't fall apart at her touch. But they shouldn't, if everything in the room was as well-preserved as it appeared.

There was a gust of wind that swirled in from the stairwell. Something in it shimmered, the same shimmer of the dark force that had entered her body had possessed, and it swirled past Daenerys, through the room and around the desk, rustling the pages of the open book. She knew with absolute certainty that she must read it. Something in her insisted upon it.

She took tentative steps towards the desk, worried that there might be some sort of magic that could harm her, but there was nothing she could sense. She reached the desk, and on instinct, reached out and brushed her fingertips against the candle, only to jerk them back in surprise when it lit itself abruptly, just as the torches had done. It was far brighter than any candle its size ought to have been. She could easily see the spidery words written in the open book. It was open to the first page. Pulling the chair out, she sat down and began to read.

My name is Daenys Targaryen.

Daenerys had read of Daenys Targaryen in the books Ser Jorah had given her. Daenys the Dreamer, she was called, for the prophetic dragon dreams she regularly had. Her dreams were the reason House Targaryen had moved to Dragonstone twelve years before the Doom. Remembering her studies of the Targaryen lineage, she knew that Daenys Targaryen was her direct ancestor.

I know that you are reading this many years from now, unless my visions are wrong, which they never are. First, I shall tell you a bit about myself. I am the daughter of Aenar Targaryen and one of his wives, Elaena Targaryen. I am nearly sixteen. I am likely to wed my brother, Gaemon, not long after we arrive at Dragonstone. He is not yet twenty. He will be a good husband to me, I think; he has promised not to take any other wives. Father has permitted us both time to study before marrying, for which I am grateful, as I dearly love to read.

I am writing this because I know that there are things you must learn, and you will not learn them if I do not write about them. This is my private study, inherited from my grandfather. I am allowed it and Gaemon is not because I possess abilities that he does not. Dragon dreams are one of those abilities, but there are others that I will tell you about.

Abilities? Daenerys was terribly curious about these abilities, but something told her not to skip ahead in the book. She didn't know if she was the person that Daenys meant this book for, but she may well be. She read on.

There are a number of books here that you may find useful, but the ones on this desk are the ones I know you will need. This is the only one written by myself. The titles that are essential to you include: Valyrian Steel: Crafting and Use; Hatching and Raising Dragons; Dragonriding Techniques; Basic Blood Magic; and Harnessing Fire Magic. You will find these useful for a variety of reasons, and will achieve many things with their help.

I shall tell you about my personal experiences and related dragon dreams, because I know that they will help you.

Firstly, you must know that under no circumstances are you to enter other rooms like this one. There are many of them in the homes of other noble families, and they are not safe for you to enter. If you so much as near the stairwell leading down to them, you will find yourself attacked and infested with blood magic of the worst kind, and it will kill you. I'm sure that you will not have attempted to go inside one yet, and that must remain the case. This sort of magic is intended to allow inside only those of the family it was built for. No one else can cross the magic's threshold safely.

Second, I have gathered from my dreams that magic is not as prolific in your time as in mine. I know that you will have the only dragons left in the world, and I know that you will have magical abilities that are no longer commonplace. I know, too, that you must learn to use your abilities. It is essential.

The abilities again. What could Daenys be talking about?

I expect that, with the passage of time, certain things will no longer be seen as fact. From what I know of your world and its relationship with magic, it's unlikely you know much of Valyrian magic, or magic relating specifically to House Targaryen.

You have likely already noticed that you are able to communicate with your dragons in ways other people cannot. This is a common Targaryen trait. Once dragons grow large enough, it is possible to ride them. Dragonriding Techniques goes into detail about how best to begin.

The most important thing for you to learn, however, is how to control your own magic. Harnessing Fire Magic will explain much of it to you, but I know you are almost certainly in the dark about your magic's existence. Communication with dragons is only one of the magical traits Targaryens sometimes have. Another rarer trait is the ability to wield fire magic.

Since I was very small, I have been able to control fire. I can not only control the fire around me, but make flames come from my hands, or even breathe it out if I wish. These abilities are not unique to House Targaryen; other noble Houses in Valyria have them, as well, but as I understand it, this will not be the case for much longer. Fire magic means that you are able to stand within a blazing fire and remain unharmed. This sort of magic cannot be learned. It must be in your blood. Some Targaryens have the ability to withstand fire, but are not fire mages themselves.

I have more to tell you, but that is everything of immediate importance. Read whatever you desire. If you wish to practice your abilities, worry not; the room has been spelled with fire mages in mind.

Daenys' foresight had been remarkable. It was no wonder the girl's father had listened to her dreams and heeded them. Even so, fire magic? How was it possible? But then, did fire not respond to her thoughts, her feelings? How many times had candles lit when she desired it? She had walked through flames, slept in them, even, and she had never so much as flinched.

Reaching for the book with Harnessing Fire Magic embossed on the spine, Daenerys opened it and began to read.

Perhaps an hour had passed, and Daenerys had learned much about her supposed abilities. All that was left was to attempt to use them. Standing slowly, she lifted her hands over her head and locked them together, pulling on each arm to stretch the muscles. She rolled her neck and heard it crack. Pushing her hair from her eyes, she turned to face the rest of the room.

And then her knees gave out and she fell back against the chair.

There was a girl standing before her, only… The girl was a translucent, glowing white. Daenerys could see the dragon eggs directly behind her.

The presence, Daenerys realized. The hand on her shoulder, the voice in her mind- it had been this girl. How had she not thought to turn around before? How had she not thought to look behind her? How had she forgotten about the presence to begin with?

Grasping the chair, Daenerys pushed herself up onto shaking, unsteady feet. Looking the girl in the face, something clicked her mind.

"Daenys?" Daenerys whispered.

The girl smiled, nodding.

"How- how are you here? You're not… I mean, you can't be alive, can you?" Daenerys asked in High Valyrian.

"No," said Daenys. When she spoke, it reverberated throughout Daenerys' body, and although she could see the girl's lips moving, it was almost as if she was speaking in Daenerys' mind rather than aloud.

"I am dead. My ashes are at Dragonstone," she said.

"Then how are you speaking to me?" Daenerys was still reeling. Her ancestor was in front of her. She was right there.

"I honestly don't know. Sometimes I'm not in this world, and sometimes I am. I am unable to control it. Regardless, it's good to speak to another person in this world after so long." Daenerys blinked at that. She couldn't imagine existing for hundreds of years without anyone to talk to. She was still lost in thought when Daenys interjected. "I'm sure this is odd, but I believe I can help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes. I had decades of experience with fire magic before I died. I can't use it now, but perhaps I can coach you," Daenys suggested.

"Oh, um- alright, that would be helpful, I think," Daenerys agreed with a slight nod. Her head was still spinning. There was a great deal happening all at once. "First, though, may I ask you some questions?" At her ancestor's nod, Daenerys continued. "So you're my-"

"Many times great-grandmother, I think," Daenys finished for her. "I was quite old when I died, but I seem to have the body and mind of my first few years of marriage," she said, looking down at herself.

"How… Strange…"

Daenys nodded again. "It is," she agreed. "I possess the memories of an old woman in a young woman's mind."

"Daenys, if I may ask, I believe you did marry Gaemon," -Daenys nodded for her to continue- "I hope that he was… Kind to you," Daenerys finished lamely.

Understanding her meaning, Daenys smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. You're thinking of my writings. Yes, Gaemon was always kind to me, and he did keep his promise to take no other wives. He was a good husband. I loved him very much."

Daenerys was pleased to hear this. She'd had many ancestors that were not so kind. It was good to know that this was not the case with all of them.

Daenys clasped her hands behind her back. "I will teach you, but I want something in return."

Daenerys blinked in surprise. She had not expected her ancestor to want something from her. "What is it?"

"I only seem to appear here and on Dragonstone. Whenever you are on Dragonstone, will you visit the crypt? I may be able to speak to you again," Daenys said.

Relieved it was something that was feasible, Daenerys smiled. "Of course. I don't know when I will be able to return to Dragonstone, but I will visit the crypt there," she promised.

Nodding, Daenys held out her hand, palm up. "Hold your hand out like this and close your eyes." When Daenerys obeyed, she went on. "There is magic all around you. You should be able to feel it always, and you probably try to force it from your mind. Don't. Focus on it. Let it consume you."

Daenerys listened to the humming in the air, and she could've sworn that with each intake of breath, the magic filled her lungs.

Let it consume you, Daenys had said. And then, suddenly, it did.

It felt real. Solid. More so than anything she'd ever felt before, had ever dreamed she was capable of feeling before. It was as if everything else was a phantom, a mirage, nothing but a figment of her imagination. The only thing that was real, that had ever been real, was the way she felt fire in the air around her, even when there wasn't any burning.

She could feel it thrumming, buzzing, all around her, in the core of her being. It was then that she realized that the fire in the air, the vibrations she could feel from it- they had always been there, her entire life, and before it, too.

It wasn't that the fire didn't exist all around her, she was beginning to understand. It was that she had merely neglected to pull it into being. Her skin tingled with it, her fingertips especially. It was as if the fire wanted to be given form. All she had to do was let it out.

When Daenerys opened her eyes, she saw a flame burning brightly in the center of her palm.

That's right, ghosts exist in this fic! I'm not sure about the afterlife situation here, but because I'm a sucker for a happy ending even in death, I figure Daenys (and any other ghosts in this universe) just flit back and forth between the world and the afterlife, sometimes for a reason and sometimes at random. They can speak, but only to people with whom they share blood. They can't touch anything or anyone, though. That's what I'm going with for ghosts here. And yes, Daenerys is a fire mage! Some of you may have already guessed this, but she totally is. Lemme know what you think.