AN: Chapter 3!
Maelor Vhagon: It's not easy for Rhaenys either. She was there, she heard what had happened to her family and all she knows is that all of that happened because her father left for Lyanna. She is an angry and traumatized child and no matter how much she is loved by Oberyn, Doran and so on, such an experience leaves its marks on a two-year-old girl.
As for Jon: he is still in the process of finding who he is, where he stands in the world, where his path is going to lead. He has a lot on his plate, but he's getting there.
Dany is Queen. She'll come out stronger.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
CallMeAuthor-san: Will be clearer in this chapter! Thank you!
Daenerys I
Viserys had been burnt the same night. Their ancestors of Old Valyria had burnt their dead and Viserys deserved as much.
She was sitting on her bed, her hands folded in her lap as she was staring at the spot where he had taken his last breath.
He hadn't even wanted to defile her. He hadn't done anything of that sort. No, her brother had wanted to kill her because, in his mind, she had cost him his throne.
Why, brother, did you force my hand?
When they were younger, when they were still living in the house with the red door, she had wanted to be his queen. Now, she had his blood on her hands. Had her family not suffered enough? Had it not been enough that the Lannisters and the Usurper had slaughtered her family? Had the Targaryen name fallen so low that they would snuff out the last of their blood themselves?
Why, brother, did you force my hand?
She had always wanted to be a good sister to him. She had always wanted to be loyal to him and had always looked up to him. Viserys had not been a bad man...not at first. She would learn to read and to write with him. He would tell her stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives. Or of King Jaehaerys I, the Old King. He would tell her stories of the greatest Targaryens, of their queens and of the legacy their family bore.
He had been a good brother and she had loved him dearly.
Once.
Their lives had changed. He had changed. Her love for him had changed.
She touched her throat. It was painfully bruised, causing her to wince.
All she could do now was to hope that, wherever he was, he was at peace now.
"Pack your belongings, Princess, we are leaving."
Daenerys looked up from her bed, torn from her musings. Prince Oberyn, her good-brother, was standing by the doorframe.
"Where are we going?" she asked, doing her best to not show her pain. Her voice was likely to sound rough for a while yet.
"We cannot take all three of you to Dorne. Hiding Rhaenys was one thing, but hiding a silver-haired Targaryen would be too risky." A small smirk toyed around his lips. "When I left with Rhaenys to come here, my brother told me eight times to not end up bringing every Targaryen to Dorne. I counted."
"I understand. I will be but a moment. I do not have much to call my own."
She pulled out a small bag, frayed at the edges and with small holes here and there, from under her bed. Looking around, she saw nothing she wanted to take. The dresses were not hers but gifts from the Magister. Gifts to make her look worthy of being a Dothraki Khal's whore-bride.
She grabbed her favourite dress, placed it carefully into the bag, then went to the guest room. Jon was the first to notice her – as he always was – and the others present soon noticed her as well.
"I am ready to depart," she said, doing her best to talk as naturally as she could.
"Good," Oberyn said. "Then let us not wait any longer."
"Before you leave, Princess," the Magister said, holding one of his thick fingers up, "let me give you a parting gift."
Rhaenys gave the Magister a suspicious look and she could see the same distrust in Oberyn's eyes, even when his smile hid it. It didn't take long for Magister Illyrio to leave the room and return with a small wooden chest in his hands. He stood in front of her and opened it, showing three rather large scaly eggs, all coloured differently.
"Dragon eggs, found in the Shadow Lands, Princess Daenerys." He smiled, twirling his beard with his free hand. "I intended to give these to you as a wedding gift, but circumstances changed. You shall have them now."
Daenerys reached with trembling hands into the box and took out the red and black one in the middle. It felt heavy and cold to the touch.
"Time has turned them into stone, but I daresay they are still magnificent."
"They are, Magister," Daenerys croaked out, clearing her throat and grimacing at the pain it caused. "Thank you. I shall not forget your generosity and hospitality."
Magister Illyrio bowed gracefully after she placed the egg back into the chest, then he closed the lid and handed it to her. She put it into her tattered bag.
"Now, let us leave, children," Oberyn said, leading them outside.
The sun was only just rising when they left the manse, painting the sky in ethereal hues. It seemed that her journey in search of a home was not over yet.
Her hair danced in the wind. A city on the horizon. It burned, then it froze, covered in snow and ice. Screams.
She was riding. A mighty roar. A red dragon. Three heads. One coloured like the night, one like grass and one like sand. Three mighty roars.
A throne of swords.
They had spent a day on the ship now. Braavos was their destination. Daenerys wondered if she would get to see the house with the red door again. She wondered if the lemon tree still stood there.
She let the sea breeze wash over her as the gentle waves let the ship rock soothingly in the water. The wood creaked a bit; a sound that nicely complemented the sound of the sea.
She was on the deck, enjoying the freedom she had suddenly found herself in. It came at a painful, horrible price, but it had been a price she had had to accept and pay. As difficult as it was, she was constantly reminding herself that Viserys had found peace now.
But what was she to do now? All Viserys had ever wanted was to take back what the Usurper had stolen from them. She wanted the same. But how? And what was it that Rhaenys and Jon wanted? Why were they here?
And then there was her dream. A dragon she had ridden and it had three heads, coloured like the eggs. Could it be that they had life in them still? And why was the dragon she had ridden as crimson a colour as the dragon in her family's banner? Why didn't it share the colours of its heads?
And the city she had seen, burning in one moment, then turned to ice in the next. She had an inkling that it was the city where the Iron Throne was, but she could not say why it became a city of ice after being a blazing inferno.
It was a dream, but she had never had dreams like this before. She had dreamt of family, of children and of peaceful times with her Viserys. This dream, however... had felt different.
The dragon has three heads.
"Aunt Daenerys?"
Pulling herself from her thoughts, she smiled. She couldn't help herself. Despite everything, her sweet nephew made her smile. "You have been right, Jon. I am free now and not some Khal's whore-bride."
Jon stood next to her. His brows were furrowed in that typical way of his. It always made him look like he was thinking and worrying about something. He probably was.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
She chuckled and winced, instantly regretting it as she rubbed her throat. "These pains are nothing compared to the agony I feel in my soul, my sweet nephew." Smiling, she touched his cheek. "Do not fret, however. I may be a kinslayer, but I did not become one lightly. I like to think I have given my brother mercy. Peace." She paused and looked at him. "I wish to hear your thoughts, Jon. Do you believe it was right?"
Jon sighed. He didn't answer immediately, leaned against the taffrail and looked out into the sea. "Kinslaying is never right, in my opinion. Kingslaying is also never right." She had not expected that and frowned. It hurt to hear him say these things – at least when it came to kinslaying. "But," he continued, "both are necessary sometimes. Both your father and brother had...difficulties, for different reasons. Both were miserable. Both hurt people and both are hopefully at peace and with their Gods now."
That made her feel better. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than what she had initially feared he was saying.
"I do not judge you for defending yourself. I would be a horrible fool to do so." He took her hand in his and squeezed it, making her smile. "I just am sorry you had to do it at all."
She nodded. "I am sorry as well. I will be every day. He truly never was a bad man." Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. "But he was deeply, deeply troubled."
"I hope I'm not interrupting something?"
Daenerys suppressed her chuckle this time and turned around to see her niece approaching. She smiled when Rhaenys came closer before pulling her into a hug.
"Jon is much too honourable a man to do anything untoward," she said teasingly after retracting herself from Rhaenys. "Are you not, Jon?"
He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his lips betrayed his humour. "Aye."
Rhaenys looked her over and her eyes lingered on her throat and the hand-shaped bruising there, causing her to frown.
"It is fine, Rhaenys. It will go away."
"I wish I could have killed that –"
"Do not finish that sentence, niece." For the first time in forever, Daenerys felt a fire burning inside of her, igniting her very being. Her voice was hard and her eyes equally so. "Viserys is dead. He is at peace. Let him rest. He was a Targaryen and it does not do to besmirch his name any longer."
"I...apologize."
Her expression softened again and she cupped her niece's cheek. "Your worry and your anger on my behalf speak for you Rhaenys. And had you not gifted me your dagger...I would be dead." She sighed and removed her hand. "Please do not fret." Turning to Jon, she looked him in the eyes with raised eyebrows. "Either of you. I am fine. I will miss my brother, as troubled as he was, but I have you now. My niece and nephew."
"I am the oldest of us, though," Rhaenys said with a grin.
"But I am your aunt," Daenerys countered, "which gives me authority over you two."
Rhaenys gave her a blank look. "It doesn't work like that."
A shrug was all the answer she needed to give.
"I wanted to ask you and Jon something," Rhaenys said. "What do you want to do now? What are your plans from now on?"
Her voice hardened again. "I want the throne. I want to take back what belonged to our family and I want to slaughter every single Lannister and Baratheon."
Rhaenys nodded, but Jon didn't say anything. Both she and Rhaenys looked at him, waiting for an opinion, a reaction, anything.
"Jon?" Rhaenys crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.
"I didn't come here to fight for a throne," he finally said, breaking Daenerys's heart a bit.
"Then why did you come to Pentos, Jon?" she asked him. "Did you just come to help me? What now? Are you just going to leave us now?"
"Aye, I did come to help you. After Lord Stark told me of you and my parents – he gave me a choice and what kind of a man would I be if I had not cared?"
"And, what? Your job is done, so now you are free to leave?" Rhaenys's tone matched Daenerys's emotions: hurt, betrayal, disappointment.
"It's difficult for me!" Jon shouted suddenly, quieting both her and Rhaenys down. "For fourteen years I was nothing! Just a highborn bastard with no ambition, no goals, no heritage! I was ready to leave for the fucking wall! I was ready to live and die there with no family to call my own, no wife to come home to and love!"
"Now you have more, Jon." She took a step towards him. "Now you have a heritage calling for you."
"You know that it is not that easy."
"Why?" Rhaenys asked. "What is stopping you from just saying 'yes'? What is stopping you to take what is ours? To avenge Aegon, father, my mother, our grandmother?"
"It feels...wrong," Jon finally admitted. "Like I am pretending to be someone I am not."
Daenerys's heart broke again, but not from hurt or disappointment. This time, it broke for her nephew. "Jon, my sweet nephew – no matter what the Usurper's lapdog had you believe –"
"He raised and protected me, Aunt Daenerys," Jon said, interrupting her. "He risked his life and his family's life to honour his sister and to protect me. Show him the respect he deserves – if not for him, then for me."
Daenerys clenched her jaws but deflated immediately. "Very well. One good thing he did, I suppose. His family still incited the rebellion and I will not forgive that."
"Do you know why the Starks were part of the main instigators, Aunt Daenerys?" Rhaenys asked.
"Because of Jon's mother, of course."
"Was that what Viserys told you?" Jon sighed.
She was getting confused. "What do you mean? Why else?"
"Do you want to tell her?" Rhaenys asked. "It's your mother's side, after all."
"Tell me what?" Now Daenerys was getting frustrated.
"You know your father –" Rhaenys cleared her throat, making Jon roll his eyes. "– and my grandfather was called the 'Mad King'. There was a reason for that."
She scoffed at him. "Ser Darry used to tell me things, yes. 'When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. One side is greatness, the other madness'. My father was mad. Others have been before him."
"Grandfather's madness is told to have been one of the worst. He saw enemies everywhere."
"Especially the Dornish," Rhaenys threw in. "In a letter sent to Uncle Oberyn, my mother had written that grandfather refused to hold or even touch me when my mother had just given birth to me. In the letter, it says that he didn't want to because I smelled Dornish."
"When my mother disappeared, everyone thought that Rhaegar had abducted her," Jon continued his story while dread settled more and more in Daenerys's stomach. "I don't know the details before – you'll have to ask someone who had been present – but Lord Stark told me that his father – who was my grandfather as well – demanded a trial by combat and...Grandfather Aerys's champion was fire. Uncle Brandon tried to free him while Grandfather Rickard was burnt alive in his armour and, in the process, Uncle Brandon strangled himself while trying to rescue him."
"And then they raised their banners in revolt," Rhaenys said. "It all began with that who- with Jon's mother, but grandfather killing those Starks was the last push."
Daenerys was distraught. No one had ever told her these things about her father. No one had ever told her about the extent of his madness. It was no wonder that the Starks had revolted against her father.
"You know," Jon said, his voice tinged with suppressed anger, "why don't you ever blame our father?"
"...I do," Rhaenys said softly, "but I despise your mother for never saying no. No matter how much she loved him...she was a Stark, after all." Rhaenys looked at Jon. "Where was her precious honour then?"
And they continued to bicker – was it Lady Lyanna's fault, or their father's, why not both? – and all the while Daenerys was struggling to comprehend the extent of her father's madness and his legacy as the Mad King, the King who had been rebelled against, the last Targaryen King, the King who lost the Targaryen dynasty.
She leaned heavily against the taffrail and watched the gentle waves. Was that why Jon had said that kingslaying was never right but sometimes necessary? To rid the world of kings like her father? Could she even blame the kingslayer then? Could she hate him for killing her father?
She turned around to look at John and Rhaenys, still bickering, still squabbling like children.
"– just not fair that you put most of the blame on my mother! You make it sound like she presented herself to father like some wench in a pillow house!"
"Maybe she did! Why else would he elope with another woman behind my mother's back? She must have seduced him some–"
"Enough, you two." Her voice was neither loud nor firm, but it was enough. "Cease your incessant bickering."
"I – I apologize, Aunt Daenerys. Forgive me, but you look terrible." Jon took a step closer. "Are you feeling unwell?"
She laughed, but it lacked any humour. "How would you feel if you had found out about your father the things I have just found out about my father? I feel very unwell."
"I am sorry...but it had to be said. You had to know."
"I know, Jon. I know."
She turned towards the waves again. So many decisions had to be made. She wanted the throne. It was Aegon the Conqueror's legacy and it belonged to her family. But she couldn't do it alone. She had to make things right. She could and would not allow for her father's reign to be what would be remembered of House Targaryen.
The dragon has three heads.
But Jon...but Jon. Jon was indecisive. She understood now that he was still searching for his place in the world. In her eyes, it was obvious, however, where that place was. He may not see it yet, but, given time, he would. She was sure of it.
"I wish for you to stay, Jon," she said after moments of silence. "I wish for you to stay with me and your sister. We can teach you."
"Teach me what?" He sounded confused.
"About our family. Our history and the glory of our forefathers and -mothers. Of Old Valyria. I can teach you your mother tongue. Valyrian."
"I speak it as well," Rhaenys added. "Had more than enough time to learn it."
He didn't answer. Daenerys turned her head to the side, looking at her nephew, his brows furrowed again. It made her smile, he and his furrowed brows.
"You have a place with us, a purpose," Daenerys added.
"I have no business being a king. You know that."
She sighed. She was quickly getting tired of this. "Stay with us and see."
"We are family, Jon. We are what remains of the Targaryen name." Rhaenys looked at him, her dark, amber eyes boring into him. "The man killing your father over a woman is sitting on your family's throne. The man crushing your brother's skull is still out there living a good life."
"Is vengeance all you crave?" Jon asked her and Rhaenys's expression hardened even more.
"No, but it is a big fucking part of my being and if you don't care that rapists and child murderers are living in comfort while you were forced to live as a bastard in the north your whole life, while Aunt Daenerys and Uncle Viserys had to live as beggars and while I am reliving Aegon's and my mother's murder every night...then I have nothing to say to you. Then you are dead to me."
"I have to agree, Jon," Daenerys said after a moment's hesitation. "I understand that we cannot expect you to share as deep a bond with us as you do with the Starks – not yet at least – but we expect your understanding. How would you feel if what had happened to us Targaryens had happened to the Starks? Would you not thirst for vengeance?"
"'The north remembers'." Rhaenys smiled without humour.
Daenerys had never heard of that phrase before, but its meaning was clear.
"I would," Jon said eventually, his voice thick. "I would want them all to die by my own hands. I am sorry, Aunt Daenerys, Rhaenys."
"With fire and blood." Daenerys walked towards Jon and gently pulled him into a hug, pulling him close. He was a bit taller than her, but not by much. "We are family, Jon. Our vengeance is your vengeance. Our loss is your loss. Our purpose is your purpose."
He had his nose buried in the side of her neck, his breathing tickling her a bit. Her throat and neck hurt, but it didn't matter because she could feel Jon nodding, she could feel him sniffle, she could feel faint wetness on her neck. Her heart skipped a beat as she buried her fingers into the thick locks of her nephew.
"Yes? Is that a yes, Jon?"
"I'll come with you for now," he said with a shaky voice. "I cannot make any promises for the future."
She nodded. It was not what she had hoped for, but it was enough. They were family and they shared the blood of the dragon. With time, he would see and accept it and they would take what was theirs with fire and blood.
Over Jon's shoulder, Daenerys saw Rhaenys standing there awkwardly. It made her feel guilty. "Rhaenys, come here, my sweet niece."
Rhaenys smiled at her and, albeit with a bit of hesitation, wrapped her arms around Jon's back. Daenerys pulled her niece closer, as much as she could with Jon between them.
She missed Viserys's hugs. She missed him holding her and brushing her hair and telling her about their forefathers when they still lived in the house with the red door.
But this was just as beautiful, just as powerful. Her niece and nephew. Her brother Rhaegar's children.
She would protect them with her life and she knew that they would protect her with their lives.
They were all that was left of the Targaryen name.
But it was enough.
Those who had tried to eradicate her house from existence would see that they should not have left their massacre half-finished.