I
It goes like this: The Targaryen bastard of Starfall is (re)born out of lust and carelessness and spite. When Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, dies in 262 AC, the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms attend his son's coronation. Aerys II is charming and handsome and, not yet the Mad King, everyone agrees his reign will be a prosperous one.
Loreza Martell, Ruling Princess of Dorne, travels to pay her dues to the new king and support his royal wife and her best friend, Queen Rhaella. Among her entourage is Anarra Dayne, granddaughter of the elderly Lord Dayne. Anarra is brash and short-tempered and impulsive, but she is young and beautiful and charming and her grandfather's favorite, so she gets away with much. She is just the type of woman to catch the young king's eye.
Aerys is crowned in the Sept of Baelor, a ceremony full of splendor and majesty, but before his coronation feast, he rows with his queen. She could have done something or nothing, but he is cross and he stews. And then Annara enters his field of view, her Valyrian-looking features making his breath catch, though in actuality the Daynes are of the First Men and not the dragon lords. The king might not be mad yet, but he still holds the Dornish in contempt and makes little effort to hide that fact. The lady of House Dayne knows this and when she notices him lusting after her, she thinks it will be a marvelous jape to accept his advances and make him realize he's bedded Dornishwoman. So she does just that and Aerys is nearly apoplectic with rage when he discovers the truth, but there is nothing he can do about it, and Anarra Dayne, victorious, makes her way back to Starfall.
Three moons later, her belly begins to swell. A moon after that, her suspicions are confirmed. Lord Dayne curses her and demands to know the identity of the father of the child who has ruined her betrothal to the heir of House Qorgyle. "Aerys Targaryen," she says, and her story spills forth from her lips in her shock and fear. Lord Dayne is furious, but powerless in the face of the king who has upset his plans. Word travels fast from the servants who heard their confrontation, and soon everyone from Dorne to the Neck knows of the king's coming bastard, and with the information out, the chance to take tansy is gone.
Throughout her pregnancy, Anarra is confined to Starfall. Her belly grows, proof of her little son or daughter. She rubs at it regretfully, for in Dorne the life of a bastard is not so bad, but this child is a king's and will be under heavy scrutiny, especially considering the last Blackfyre rebellion was not even five years ago.
The king says little and less to her. He sends only a curt note stating he will acknowledge the child – he is not yet devoid of whatever sense of honor he has, and fancies himself a great man who will become a great king – but that his bastard son – and Anarra snorts when she realizes he has already just assumed the child will be a boy – will stay in Dorne and out of his way unless he summons him. His grudge towards his unborn child's mother, it seems, is still in place.
Fine, Anarra thinks bitterly. Her child will not need him regardless. He or she will have the Daynes of Starfall and fellow Dornishmen and play under the sun and in Dornish waters and Dornish sands.
.
.
Anarra's son is born as the two hundredth and sixty-second year after Aegon's Conquest comes to an end. He has the typical Valyrian hair, though the light cap he has is more golden than silver. When he opens his eyes, they are not the deep, dark indigo (or, rarely, violet) of House Dayne, but light amethyst. He has Aerys' eyes. Anarra harbors no affection for the king, while he was a skilled lover, but as soon as her gaze meets her son's, she adores them.
She holds him after he's cleaned, still on her birthing bed, and shushes him gently, cradling him to her chest. His cries quiet gradually and she nurses him from her own breast. When that's done, he falls asleep in her arms. Anarra stares at this precious thing, this little person she's created, and just takes in the sight of him. He looks very much like the king, she thinks disappointedly. While he's still a babe, she can see the hints of the features he will grow into. She hopes some of her will shine through as well. Her son deserves better than to look like the father who does not want him.
"Poor thing," she whispers, voice quiet so he does not wake. "Outside of Dorne, the world will not be kind to you. For that I am sorry." Loreza Martell had not been impressed at the word of Anarra's condition, but she had given her the chance to explain and when the lady of House Dayne had told her her reasoning – which had been a terrifying experience, even through letter – her anger had cooled though her exasperation had increased tenfold. At the very least, Anarra knows that the Princess of Dorne will not hold her son's birth against him.
The door to the birthing chambers cracks open and she raises her head. Before her stands Lord Ali Dayne, heir to Starfall. At five–and–forty, he is tall and lean, with pale skin and light blond hair, silver at his temples. His violet eyes meet her own indigo.
"Uncle," Anarra rasps, her throat hoarse, "what are you doing here?"
"I came to meet my great–nephew," Uncle Ali replies. "And to see how my favorite niece was faring."
She chuckles. "I'm your only niece."
He presses a finger to his lips and winks. Then, walking to the bed, he stands beside her. "He is a beautiful babe, and healthy too," he compliments. Anarra mumbles a thanks. "What is his name?"
The new mother lifts her chin up in defiance and squares her shoulders. She knows he will not like this name, knows he will disapprove, and she does not care. The Seven Kingdoms will be hostile towards her son anyway, so why not make them fear him? Besides, she thinks with satisfaction, it will anger his father.
"Maegor," she says, eyes flashing with pride. "My son's name is Maegor Sand."
II
Maegor grows quickly. While caring for him is difficult at first, Anarra has her family beside her, helping her. After Grandfather's rage cools, he goes to meet his first great–grandchild. Within minutes, he is twisted around the boy's little finger. Time passes swiftly, and before they know it, Maegor is two and his mother twenty years older than that.
And so Anarra finds herself playing with him and Arron, Arthur, and Ashara, her much younger cousins for Uncle Ali waited ages to finally marry, in the castle.
"Where are you?" she calls out. There is no response, but she swears she hears giggling. "I'll find you eventually!"
The servants chuckle good–naturedly, not even batting an eye as the highborn woman walks through the castle like one of them. It has become a common occurrence since her son was born and she actually began taking an interest in her cousins, who have become his dearest playmates.
Anarra follows the sounds of amusement, recognizing them to be Arron's. The boy is hiding behind the corner of a less–traveled hallway the servants must have shown him. She sneaks up on him, keeping her footsteps light as he laughs into his hands, before grabbing at him, her arms wrapping around his waist. He shouts in surprise, but those turn into shrieks as her fingers scuttle along his sides.
"Anarra," he says through his peels of laughter, " stop!"
She pauses for a moment, if only to give him hope, before grinning. "I don't think so, coz." Before she can resume her merciless onslaught, a cry resounds.
"Hayah!" someone says, and then three little bodies are throwing themselves at Anarra. Her eyes widen. She turns to see her son and the rest of her cousins.
They hit her with their little fists which can do no damage, valiantly coming to Arron's aid, and she groans dramatically, kneeling to the floor. "I've been felled!" she cries. "Slain at the hands of my own kin!"
The children shout victoriously and punch at the air. Anarra staggers to her feet and Maegor's arms wrap around her leg. "Up, Mama!" he demands. She sniffs.
"You have some nerve, boy. Asking me to lift you up after you attacked me." He pouts and mumbles an apology and she laughs and lifts him up. "Come," she says, "let us make our way back to Aunt Dera. She will have snacks to eat." Her son's expression brightens and they're on the move, followed by her cousins who are eager to see their mother.
As Maegor grows content, Anarra's grip relaxes somewhat. He is getting heavy to hold, she thinks while they walk. Soon she, who has never been particularly strong, will struggle to carry him. They stop by the stairs and she decides she will go the long way around. Best to not risk any nasty slips down the stairs. Before she can, however, Maegor shouts happily.
"Uncle Ali!" he says, pointing. Anarra follows the direction of his finger to see her uncle making his way up the steps. He waves a hand in greeting. Her son wriggles in her hold, thrashing about. In any other instance, she would have been able to hold on. But she had relaxed her grip before, and Maegor is free of her, racing to the stairs before her trips.
Anarra's world slows as her son falls. She catches the happy expression on his face turn to fear and is distantly aware of Uncle Ali moving to catch him, but the heir to Starfall is too slow. Their group of four watches as their fifth member plummets, slamming against the floor. For a moment, no one dares to breathe. She waits for Maegor to get up, to wail, to do anything, but he is still.
When she catches sight of the blood on the floor, the blood from her son – oh gods – the reality of the situation sets in.
And Anarra screams.
.
.
Maegor is rushed to Starfall's maester. Uncle Ali carries his painfully limp frame as Anarra races beside him. The servants have taken her cousins elsewhere. Her son is bleeding from the back of his head. His beautiful silver–gold curls, the very ones she presses a kiss to every night, are matted with his own blood. His eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls shallowly. Tears blurr her vision.
Maester Jonyl bids them to place Maegor on a bed. He orders for pillows to be propped up so he can lean against them. Then he pushes the hair from his wound. Anarra watches on anxiously, hovering over his shoulder until the maester snaps at her to leave the room. She doesn't go at first, intent on staying beside her son, but then Uncle Ali takes her by the arm and drags her out, kicking and screaming.
He crushes her to his chest, whispering words of comfort, but she beats her fists against his frame. She keeps at it until he backs away from her just enough to grab her wrists. "Calm yourself!" he hisses, and then his face softens as the tears slide down her cheeks.
"My son," she gasps, "my boy. I carried him for nine moons, I swaddled him and fed him at my breast. He is only two years old. The gods cannot take him from me. Tell them they cannot!"
She is reminded of all those years ago when her mother grew ill and her father fell from his horse and never rose again. She'd thought that would be the worst pain she could ever experience in her life. She was wrong. Maegor is the center of her universe. She does not know how she ever saw color without her precious little son to show her a joy she had never experienced in her life before him. If he dies, she will not survive it.
"He will be alright, Anarra," Uncle Ali says. He takes her by the shoulders and shakes her gently. "Maester Jonyl is an intelligent man and a skilled maester. If anyone can help Maegor, it is him."
Those words do not make her feel any better.
III
Maegor is both flying and falling at the same time. He's drowning and wilting beneath the searing sun. He's in Mama's arms and the arms of some else.
"Maegor," Mama croons.
The other woman holding him says something as well, but he can't hear it.
He sees himself playing with Arron and Arthur and Ashara in Starfall and sees a boy with dark skin, dark hair and dark eyes playing with children who look like him in the strangest castle he's ever seen. He feels young, like a boy, and old, like someone Mama's age. He feels air rushing through his lungs as he laughs and water burning at his throat as he screams. He feels pain and sorrow and joy and blissfulness all at once and-
It's too much. Spots dance before his eyes and his head feels light. Distantly, he can hear people screaming two names. One he recognizes as his own and the other–
He furrows his brow.
And then he remembers.
.
.
Maegor jerks awake screaming. He claws at his throat and then at his skin, shoulders heaving as he doubles over, gasping for breath.
"Maegor," someone says, voice colored with concern. "Are you alright? Maegor!" The voice raises.
He knows he's probably worrying some poor soul sick right now, but he doesn't care. He died. He knows he died because he remembers it and now he's here. In Westeros. A Dayne bastard.
He drowned. Salt water burns at his throat now, and at his eyes and his chest constricts and someone wails horribly. After a second, he realizes it's him.
Oh God, oh god, oh god-
Someone presses a cup against his lips and forces something into his mouth. His nose is squeezed until he has to swallow it and then his head starts spinning and his eyes start drooping and he slumps back onto the bed.
.
.
Mama is soft. Mama is soft and safe and warm and Maegor buries his face in the crook of her neck as she sits at his bedside. "How are you feeling, my little star?" she asks.
Really fucking terrible, considering my entire world was just flipped on its head, Maegor wants to say. The words don't leave his mouth. He only sniffles and snuggles closer to her. She kisses the top of his head and love love love is the song of his heart.
"You'll be better soon," Mama promises, "Maester Jonyl says so. Soon Arron and Arthur and Ashara will be able to visit you, and you can play again."
The child in him perks up at that. She smiles at his reaction and smooths back his hair. "Can I have a story, Mama?" he says. She raises an eyebrow curiously.
"Which one, my little star?"
"Nymeria and her ten-thousand ships."
"You've heard that one many times, my little star." He huffs and she laughs, the sound reverberating through her chest. "Oh, very well."
Mama is a natural storyteller. She weaves the tale of the Rhoynar and the Freehold and the unification of Dorne effortlessly and long into the night. Maegor stays up for the whole thing. If he sleeps too early he'll wake up in the middle of the night and remember that he's some kind of zombie freak or reincarnation. If he stays up, the story takes his mind off of his situation and he'll sleep in; it's a win–win.
So Maegor stays up, watching his mother, hears the passion and love in her voice when she speaks of this homeland of hers, and learns the history of Dorne firsthand. And a part of him that must be influenced from before he regained his memories coils up in pride. He shifts so that his head is on Mama's lap. She runs her fingers through his hair. They stay up long into the night and he can picture everything about Nymeria and Mors and their victories. And in his gratitude for the distraction they offer, in the peace, that's the first time he associates Dorne with positive emotions.
It will be far from the last.
.
.
Maegor's cousins are happy to see him. They swarm him as he walks, helping hands outstretched, prepared to catch him as soon as they see him sway. It's endearing and his heart melts at the sight of the concern on their faces, still chubby with child fat. Ashara most of all is by his side, sticking out amongst the Daynes with the black hair she got from her mother, and Maegor flinches at the sight of her. There is a tenderness in his heart he cannot bear when he looks upon them – they have been his playmates for his entire second life and it is only natural – but then he remembers their fates. Arron, who dies by A Feast for Crows, leaving his young son as the head of their house; Arthur, slain at the Tower of Joy; and worst of all, Ashara, flinging herself off of the Palestone sword after her brother's death and her daughter's stillbirth. His heart aches.
"Maeg," Ashara nudges his shoulder and he can't even get angry at the stupid nickname she has for him, "what's wrong?"
He shoves his emotions aside. "Nothing," he smiles. The expression is forced and fake and not even children as young as this buy the lie. Ashara's face is colored with doubt. They're in the gardens, sitting on the lush green grass, and she places her head against his shoulder. Arron and Arthur splay out on their backs and prop up against him, elbows digging sharply into his body.
"Ouch!" Maegor yelps. "Get off!"
"No," Arron replies. He snorts at the simple, one–word answer.
"You're stuck with us," Arthur says.
They stay like that for a while, and Maegor eventually realizes that this is the best way they know how to comfort him. When that thought dawns on him, a sharp, stabbing pain, like a hundred pinpricks, erupts between his eyes. "Agh!" he yelps, and suddenly he's falling and flying all over again and the adult part of him is recalling his own memories while the part of him that is Maegor cries, longing for his friends.
"Maeg!" Ashara screams. "Maeg!"
Maegor clutches at his head and his cousins get off of him. He moves to his knees, stooping over as he struggles for air. One of his cousins goes running for help while the other two hover beside him, panicked and indecisive before beginning to mutter words of comfort. He stays like that until he hears the adults rushing to them and the pain gradually subsides. Looking up, he sees nearly all of House Dayne watching him with worried eyes.
"Maegor," Mama says, "let's take you to Maester Jonyl."
"M'kay," he replies, stumbling. Arthur and Arron are steadying him in an instant, Ashara at their heels. He looks at them and feels gratitude and an affection so overwhelming it nearly knocks him off his feet. He feels like he's being split in half between the side that loves them and the side that doesn't until he falls to the ground, convulsing violently. All of his family moves forward and something finally locks into palace.
Mine, he thinks, mine, mine, mine.
And in that moment he knows he cannot let anything bad happen to any of them.
IV
Maegor is curled up in the sun when Mama finds him. It's been nearly two years since his revelation, two years since his reality was shattered, and all things considered, he thinks he's adjusted decently enough. There are still some moments when he seems far too old for his body and others this new vessel he's in seems to fit perfectly, but the aching headaches have stopped and he loves this new family of his. It's certainly better than his last one.
"Rise, my little star," Mama says in her melodic voice. Maegor cracks an eye open and yelps immediately as sunlight streams through his vision. Normally, his mother would chuckle at something like that, but she doesn't today. That's the first sign that something is wrong. He moves to sit up and look at her and his concern grows at the look on her face. Mama does not frown often; it's rare that he sees her without a smile or a grin or even a smirk, without hearing a laugh from her. So naturally, seeing her furrowed brow makes him apprehensive.
"What's wrong, Mama?" he asks. She purses her lips.
"Come with me, my little star," she replies. "There's something you need to know."
They walk back to her chambers, silent all the way, and Maegor wrings his hands together as they enter. He hasn't done anything wrong, has he? He doesn't think so. Has something bad happened? Great-grandfather isn't looking well these days. Has he–
"Maegor," Mother says, "have you ever wondered who your father is?"
The truth is that the thought passed his mind once, but not much after that. He never had a father in his first life and with the Daynes and Great-Uncle Ali as a father-figure, he certainly doesn't need one now. Whoever the man is, he doesn't matter. On the table by which they're sitting, she points to a small box.
"This is a gift from him," she says, "open it."
She doesn't seem very enthusiastic about it but he complies. It's a beautiful box, made of black tin and painted with an ornate red border. Maegor removes the lid and sets it onto the table. He blinks at what he sees.
Is that a dagger?
He goes to pick up the gift his absentee father has given him and yes, it is indeed a dagger. The thing is held in a black sheathe and rests above a belt. Maegor draws it slowly. The blade glimmers as he does so. The hilt is black while a singular red line spirals up from the bottom of it to where it meets metal. The grip is leather, it seems. It fits perfectly in Maegor's hand.
"It's beautiful," he breathes. And it is. The dagger has been shined time and time again to the point where he can see his own awestruck face in the metal. It gleams, almost shifting out of sight when he moves it, and he feels as if he could cut through the air in a single stroke. The long red spiral at the hilt curls to the left like a long line of blood against a midnight sky.
Effort has clearly been put into this gift, and Maegor thinks that his father has instantly scored points in his good books.
"You like it, then." Mama's voice is flat.
"Yes."
"Your father gifted it to you for your name day," she says. "Regrettably, he will not be able to attend." Her voice is thick with contempt and Maegor thinks there's another part to this story besides him being an ass. She snaps her fingers and looks him right in the eyes.
Her expression is a severe one, even more serious than before. Her indigo eyes, usually so full of laughter, are cold now. Her light blond hair, which has always framed her face like a halo when she smiles, seems out of place against her stoic mask. Her shoulders are drawn up and back tightly, her hands clenched to fists. "I will always love you, my little star," she says, "please know that. Your life will not be easy for given the father I chose for you out of carelessness, but you will always have the backing of House Dayne. Believe in that."
Maegor is getting nervous. His palms sweat as he pleads with her silently to get to the damn point. "And who is my papa, Mama?" he asks.
She cups his face in her hands. "He is Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Maegor's world stops.
"... What."
.
.
A/N: So there y'all have it. The first chapter to my new fic. This one I have a good feeling about, especially since I already have a lot of the major plot points planned out. I'm super excited too, because at 4k words, this is the longest chapter I've ever written! I'm kinda proud guys. Hope y'all liked this chapter! Please forgive any typos btw. I'm sleep deprived as I finish this up and have no beta so things are bound to slip through the cracks. If you catch any errors, feel free to let me know!
