"Ostara, darling, lift your arms."
The four year old does as she's told. Lifting her arms so that her mother can help her slip a gown over her head. Once her head is free and her hands are through the sleeves she lowers her arms and turns to that her mother can help her do the buttons up on the back, and as the older woman works Ostara stares at her reflection in the mirror hanging from the wall.
She likes her dress, it's a deep rose pink with silver flowers embroidered along the neckline and hems. A gift from Queen Rhaella or so her mother had claimed when she'd swept into Ostara room earlier with three maids carrying a tub and several buckets of water trailing close behind.
"You must be on your very best behavior today." Her mother says as she begins to carefully weave Ostara's hair into a braid commonly seen in the Stormlands.
"Yes, mother."
Cassana ties the braid off with a silver ribbon and presses a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek. When she notices Ostara staring at her through the mirror Cassana spins the little girl around and offers an impish grin more commonly seen on Robert then the Lady of Storm's End.
"Today we will break our fast with Queen Rhaella and you will be introduced to Prince Rhaegar. Typically you and your brothers would have met him at the feast tonight but as you're family and of a similar age the Queen and I believe that it would do you all some good."
"You want us to be friends."
Her mother's eyes are so incredibly soft. "Yes, I want that very much."
"I'm four, the Prince is nine. I highly doubt he'll want to be my friend."
"Oh hush, the prince is only just turning nine and will enjoy your company if nothing else," Her mother laughs. "Come, we mustn't keep the Queen waiting." Her mother takes her hand as she speaks and rising so that she may guide Ostara from the room.
And the little girl allows it because her wand is stuck in her stocking and her mother seems so excited and, frankly, Ostara could use some breakfast. Afterward she'll slip away with Stannis and leave Robert to entertain the prince but she thinks that she could suffer through one morning of awkward conversation if it means getting something to eat.
~X~
Breakfast is extravagant, full of meats and eggs and fresh fruits all spread out on a large oak table that had been carried out into the gardens at one point this morning upon either the Queen's request or Cassana's. It's almost overwhelming and Ostara keeps quiet as she is guided to a seat between Robert and Stannis. She doesn't sit though, not until she's been properly introduced to the prince.
He's a sad looking boy to say the least but very sweet mannered.
Ostara watches as he kisses her mother's hand, commenting on how her ring is finely crafted and that Lord Baratheon did well in choosing it for her. Then he turns and bows to the three Baratheon children lingering near their mother, greeting them softly and smiling at Ostara when he straightens. She merely curtsies to him before moving to take her seat.
An hour passes, two, and all of the children at the table have long since finished their food. But Ostara's mother and the Queen are engaged in amiable conversation and none of the children would ever dare to interrupt their mothers. No matter how anxious they might become. But the minutes keep ticking by and Ostara's starting to wonder how long it'll take for them to wrap their conversation up or tell the children fidgetting in their seats that they can leave.
"I'm bored." Robert whispers to Ostara.
"You're always bored." Stannis remarks just as softly which causes Robert to begin muttering about lacking manners and little siblings.
Eventually Ostara grows tired of it and slides out of her seat to make her way over to the Queen. She passes the prince on her way and his eyes follow her as Ostara moves to stand beside the Queen where she reaches up to very gently tap the woman's forearm. When the Queen's attention is on her Ostara bows her head, rocks back on her heels, and looks up at the woman through her lashes.
"May we be excused to go and play, Your Grace?" She asks, because it's common courtesy to ask the adults at the table if you can leave before actually leaving.
The queen smiles at her and nods as she replies with a softly spoken, "Of course, sweet girl. Rhaegar?"
"Yes mother?"
"Would you be a dear and show the Baratheon children the dragon skulls should they wish it?" Rhaella asks to which her son bows his silver head and rises from his seat.
Ostara curtsies to the woman before saying, "Thank you, Your Grace!"
She and the other children don't waste any time in leaving their mothers to their own devices though once they're out of sight Ostara stops and turns to the boys who have followed her. Robert, as expected, is bouncing on the balls of his feet, perhaps too excited about the idea of seeing real life dragon skulls. Stannis looks like he couldn't care less either way.
Prince Rhaegar, however, is staring at her as if she confuses him. And maybe she does. Either way it doesn't matter. Ostara's not all that interested in looking at dragon skulls. She'd seen plenty of them in her last life when she'd gone to Romania with Ron to visit Charlie. While it might be fascinating to anyone else, and Ostara can respect that, she'd much rather see the library.
When she says as much Robert scoffs and tells her to do something fun for once, Ostara ignores him. She's good at ignoring Robert. But she hadn't expected the dimpled grin that stretches across the young prince's face when she alludes to her love of books... And, well, she just can't seem to find it in her to ignore his smile the way she ignores Roberts.
~X~
Later that day Stannis finds her curled up on a window seat in the library, a book of Targaryen history spread open across her lap, and her head resting against the wall just beside the stained glass window that offers her more precious light then the candles littered about the room. Her brother toddles over and clambers up to sit with her, smiling thinly when she meet his gaze.
She's shocked to find hurt lingering in her brother's normally stoic features.
"Hello Stannis."
"Stara."
"What are you doing here, Stannis? Did you grow bored of Robert?" She asks.
And her brother's eyes grow teary as he bows his head.
Without thought Ostara closes her book, sets it aside, and scoots closer to her brother who clenches and relaxes his jaw at an almost alarming rate.
"Stannis? What happened?"
"He left me."
"Robert?"
"Yes."
"Why would he do that? Weren't the two of you going to accompany the prince to his lessons?"
Instead of answering Stannis just shrugs and Ostara's concern for one brother turns to spitting anger directed at the other. It isn't unknown that Robert and Stannis aren't close but they're brothers and sometimes Robert's behavior is deplorable. Oh well, it's Robert's loss.
Ostara leans back against the stained glass and watches her brother for a long moment before nudging his shoulder.
"Stara?"
"When we get back to Storm's End... I've something very important to show you. But you mustn't ever tell Robert."
"Why?"
"Because it's our secret, yours and mine." Ostara laughs.
If the guards assigned to her cast her a glance Ostara ignores it. They're loyal to House Baratheon and Ostara sees them every day. Obliviating them will be easy in comparison to some of the other things she's had to do over the past year or so. And when Stannis' smile turns soft and sweet Ostara can't find it in herself to be worried about whether or not the guards will run to her father or mother. Not when her brother looks happier then she's seen him since they came to King's Landing.
"Alright."
"Alright," Ostara pulls away and opens her book up. "Would you like to read with me?"
When Stannis nods his head Ostara spreads her book out across both of their laps and begins reciting the words writing on the page in a soft, clear tone which travels no further then the two Baratheon guards standing not three feet away. And she continues to read until her mother comes to collect them for the feast, shooting Stannis a delighted grin as she allows their mother to guide them from the bench.
~X~
"My father enjoys music." Rhaegar explains later that evening when yet another singer has been called to sing during the celebrations.
Dinner ended ages ago and Ostara's mouth still tastes like pie and sugar and sweets. Her tongue is heavy with it and the back of her throat tastes vaguely sour. Water had been placed on the end of the table where the children were guided to sit upon entering the great hall, thank Merlin. Ostara thinks that if it weren't for the water she'd have died from all the sugar she's eaten.
"Do you enjoy music, cousin?" Robert asks, attempting to appear bigger and older then he is.
Ostara watches as the Prince smile faintly at the younger boy. "I enjoy reading a great deal more."
Robert's face creases as he frowns and says, "Ostara likes to read. Father mentioned she might try to make off with your libr-ow! Gods!"
"Sorry, foot slipped." Stannis remarks blandly.
Robert's face is bashful and he stammers out something about tourneys in an attempt to cover his previous mistake. They'd all been told to watch their tongues while in the capital, not an incredibly difficult task for Ostara and Stannis as one knows when to hold her tongue and the other rarely speaks to others of personal matters to begin with. It's a bit harder for Robert though, he gets so excited about the prospect of making a friend that he forgets sometimes that not everyone needs to know their personal business.
Rhaegar looks between them for a moment before turning to her, and she swears to whatever Gods are listening that if he says something condescending about her being too little to read she's going to kick him in the kneecap. He doesn't, mock her that is. Instead he smiles and tilts his head to the side a bit and Ostara feels like he's going to engage her in an intellectual conversation... Or as intellectual as it can get when she's trying to act closer to her age and he's still so young.
But this is what she's trained for. Kind of. Years of babysitting for the Weasleys and Harry whenever the adults wanted to go do something without the kids (Which typically ended with yet another Weasley to add to the every growing family tree) has given Ostara prime conversation topics and skills. She's got this.
"You enjoy reading, Ostara?"
She nods, "Yes."
"Do you have a favorite?"
"Not yet, no. I enjoy legends though."
Somehow the conversation ends nearly thirty minutes later when Ostara's mother comes to collect her children and usher them to bed. She and Rhaegar are discussing old Valyrian legends and comparing them to legends from other places in the known world. It's surprisingly good fun and Ostara manages to get away with telling the young prince off more often then not due to her age. It's odd to think that she's enjoying bantering with the prince, or bantering as much as she's able to banter without seeming like a child throwing a tantrum, and when her mother comes to guide her off Ostara finds herself hoping that she and Rhaegar have started something of a friendship.
~X~
"Are you enjoying King's Landing, Ostara?" Rhaella asks the little girl only a day before she and her family are set to leave.
Rhaella isn't sure what to think of the little girl Cassana brought with her to King's Landing. She's too intense for a child her age, too intense and too bright and too capable. When she'd mentioned it to Casssana her old friend had merely shrugs and told her that Ostara was special, that it was the will of the Gods and she had no right to question that.
She supposes that it's unfair to judge Ostara the way she has. Ostara still fidgets when she's bored, still allows her eyes to wonder when she's supposed to be paying attention, still taunts her elder brother Robert the way children are wont to do. She is still a child. What right does Rhaella have to judge Ostara? The girl is odd, yes, perhaps too smart for her own good, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things.
So why does the child make her nervous?
Perhaps it is the girl's eyes.
Constantly pinprick pupils floating in a sea of purple so deep it appears unnatural. They appeared alert, always cattish and hungry as they drift from person to person and back again. Upturned at the outer corner and curtained by a sharp sweep of black that only seemed to enunciate the color of her eyes. If she were hard pressed Rhaella would say her eyes were the color of a plum. Purple, yes, but with a hint of red mixed in. A color that had never been recorded on any Targaryen Rhaella had learned of as a child under her mother's careful tutelage.
They were not the eyes of a little girl.
Too keen, too aware.
Rhaella feels like she's drowning every time the girl looks at her. Like Ostara Baratheon is picking her apart, observing her flaws and weaknesses and making note of her strengths before leaving the tangled mess behind for Rhaella to deal with.
"Yes, Your Grace, very much." Ostara Baratheon replies, voice clear and strong as a summer wind, but her eyes only lift from her book for but a second before she goes back to reading.
"I'm glad," Rhaella says, and then. "Rhaegar has told me that the two of you have discussed books."
"Yes, the Prince is very good company."
Rhaella's honestly a bit surprised. Her son, as sweet as he is and as kind, does not make friends easily. Perhaps it is a good thing Ostara Baratheon came to court, her love of books has certainly been noted and Rhaella suspects that it is the reason her son has sought her out. Even if the age difference between them meant that they might not be capable of reading the same books.
She suspects her son is lonely.
She suspects Ostara is a little lonely too.
"Have you met any girls your age, Ostara?" Rhaella asks.
"Hm? Oh... Yes. Alysanne Tarth is my age but she's never at Storm's End... There's Cerys, though she's always busy."
"Cerys? Is she a Lord's daughter?"
Something utterly defiant fills the little girl's face and her shoulders become incredibly tense as she shakes her head and says, "No. Cerys is a servant but she's my age and she's kind... We're friends."
And that's that. Rhaella doesn't try to tell her that she can't be friends with a servant, can't tell her that she should find more suitable friends to play with, because it wouldn't do any good for her to try and, frankly, she thinks that as long as Ostara Baratheon wants to be friends with a servant girl then she'll be friends with a servant girl.
Rhaella smiles fondly at the little girl before taking a sip of her tea.
~X~
They leave King's Landing the next morning. Robert gushes about having seen the King at court, ruling over his people as King's are supposed to do, Stannis seems equally as mystified by the experience. Ostara can't believe either of her siblings thought that Tywin Lannister, the man they'd met and interacted with not a week before, was King Aerys. She's almost a little disappointed in their observation skills.
But she can't think about their misconceptions for too long because King Aerys gave them each a present and he'd given Ostara a book of High Valyrian translated into more common dialects. It's like an English-to-Valyrian dictionary and Ostara absolutely loves it.
Curling up on the padded bench in the Wheelhouse while her brothers play with the daggers gifted too them. They've been blunted of course so unless Robert or Stannis are really trying to kill each other no harm with come to either of them while they play, Cassana keeps both eyes on them as they bolt around the space all-the-same. Which is good for Ostara because she can curl up on the bench with her new book and the journal spread across her lap and no one will bother her.
Translating is easy enough, it's making out the words that Ostara struggles with.
But she starts on the very first page where the ink has worn down the most and someone's signature is scrawled across the bottom of the page. Ostara waits to attempt making out the faded letters until she's got the rest of the page translated. It's a task that takes longer then it should but eventually Ostara manages to make out enough of the writing to understand some of what's been written.
skori se mele qēlos bleeds se se sȳndror gathers, Azōr Ahaī kessa sagon āzma arlī amidst ōrbar se lopor naejot wake zaldrīzoti hen hen dōron.
When the red star bleed and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.
It's only a partial translation, there's still so much to make out and translate. But what little bit she'd been able to make out had been enough to stir something in her gut. Something old and primal in ways Ostara's only felt a few scant times during her life as Hermione Granger.
Without much thought Ostara moves onto the name scribbled at the bottom of the page in faded ink.
She squints at it, pulls the journal closer, tilts it a certain way so that the light from the sun hits it better but no matter what she does the words remain too faint for her to make out. Ostara scowls as she settles back to begin seeing if you can make out any of the letter and piece the name together that way. A chore if ever there was one. It takes her a good thirty minutes of flipping through the journal and comparing the style of writing she can read to the faint letters and the Valyrian alphabet printed on the newer book she'd been given.
As it turns out Ostara was right about one thing. It's a name.
A name that takes at least an hour to decipher but Ostara manages it with a triumphant grin and a soft huff of laughter that isn't laughter.
Renaehra Vaelmaereon.
Ostara feels sick. The world around her is spinning faster and faster. She's barely aware of closing her books, wrapping them up in soft cloth, and stuffing them into her travel back before moving to stretch out across the bench so that she can lay her head in the cradle of her arms. It takes her so suddenly, this dizziness, that she doesn't even have the mind to wonder if it's a curse, to wonder if she's dying.
She's not.
She knows that much.
Even as inky blackness pulls her into sweet oblivion Ostara knows that whatever's happening to her is better then death... Or perhaps much, much worse.
~X~
Her dreams are full of a woman with pale white hair and eyes so dark they appear black in the firelight. There's a dragon curled around her neck, a little black thing with molten eyes and talons a sort of off-amber color. A beautiful woman in her prime with Valyrian cheekbones and a bottom lip that puffs out slightly.
Ostara knows her, just as she knows herself.
Knows that her name is Renaehra and she's the first born daughter of the Dragon Lord Malaevor Vaelmaereon. She's got a younger brother named Jacaegon and a little sister named Baenna. Her mother is dead and she is in love with a slave in her father's household.
She is also a witch.
A powerful one too, capable of magics Ostara's never heard of before. But she writes her findings and her spells and her potions in her journals where they remain safe under her protection. The only other person allowed to see was her lover, a dark eyed man with a smile that made Renaehra's heart flutter stupidly in her chest. They'd been happy, she and her lover, despite everything. Despite him being her brother's slave and she a woman soon to marry.
They were happy, and then they weren't.
Happy until every hill in Valyria erupted in a spray of ash and fire and smoke that tore even the dragons from the sky, the Fourteen Flames where Renaehra would go to collect some of her plants for her potions let forth molten rock that shot a thousand feet into the air and the red clouds had rained down dragon glass that had sunk into soft flesh and delicate membranes. Lakes boiled and turned to acid and steam, temples and towns and castles crumbled as the earth shook, and no matter how much magic Renaehra poured into her wards and her barriers there was nothing she could do to stop the Doom.
And so she sought out her lover and she found him near death.
Healing him had proved impossible, her magic drained as it was, and leaving him had not been an option. So Renaehra Maelmaereon had stayed by his side and siphoned his pain from his body. And when the Doom came to claim her life and his as well the Valyrian girl had laid her forehead against her love's still chest and had allowed darkness to claim her.
~X~
"We've been here before, haven't we?" Ostara asks, the tears drying on her cheeks ignored.
Yes.
"When did it start?"
The hooded being standing beside her is quiet, still, naught but one shadow among hundreds in the godswood of Storm's End.
Ostara's been home all of three days and it feels like she's walking in a dream. Like none of this is real and tomorrow she'll wake in a bed made of ash and bones. It's a terrible thing, knowing what's happened to Renaehra and Hermione, capable witches who died terrible deaths, and knowing she cannot stop it if that is to be her fate as well. She wonders if she's always died in terrible ways, wonders if it's best not to know.
Apparently the being beside her thinks she should.
Why else would he have given her the journals? Why else would he have let her seen what she's seen.
Years ago and for years to come.
"Why are you so damn cryptic all the time? Just tell me I'm cursed and be done with it."
No, not cursed.
"Not cursed? You don't really expect me to believe that do you?"
You have been here before. And you've fought for these people before. In a different body, by a different name, wearing a different face but it is always the same... You are always the same. In this life and in the next.
Ostara frowns up at the being staring down at her.
The being that reaches out to trace a finger through the wet path her tears have made. And when he pulls away his finger shines prettily in the flashes of lightning that rip around the sky. Ostara watches as the tear soaked finger disappears into the being's robes and only has enough time to look up and see a flash of honey gold eyes before he is gone and she is left standing in the godswood with nothing but her wand and a five pointed leaf dangling from her fingers.