When Ostara is eight her moth announces her pregnancy. She tells them over dinner, beaming and smiling and promising them a little brother. Ostara thinks it's bold of her to assume the baby's going to be a boy but decides not to comment on it. Instead she congratulates her parents and admits that she's excited to have another sibling.
A small part of her hopes there's another girl in the family, a little sister for Ostara to dote on and teach.
Stannis on the hand seems more put out then anything. Probably because he's already got a brother and a sister to deal with and another one would just add more chaos into his life.
Ostara smiles as she bites into her biscuit.
The rest of the morning is filled with happy conversation about the baby and how excited everyone is. Her mother suggests they write to the King before news of the pregnancy is brought to him by someone else. Ostara thinks it's an idea, she can't say whether or not it's a good idea or a bad one though. Because rumor is the King has become suspicious of his wife, blaming her stillbirths and miscarriages on infidelity.
It's just rumors so far though and Aerys hasn't done anything publicly.
Ostara rolls her shoulders and excuses herself from the table, kissing her mother's cheek as she makes her way to the door. She has better things to do then contemplate the idiocy of the world she's been born into. Things like tend to her dragon eggs and finish up some of her projects. Potions she's been working on and magical books she'd managed to salvage from the Vaelmaereon library.
The trip to her room is a short one and after a quick pause to cast a few warding spells Ostara pulls open her wardrobe door. She allows her familiar to enter and exit before her, casting a glance around the room before slipping in after her friend.
Heat washes over Ostara as she steps out into Renaehra's room.
She doesn't pay it any mind as she closes the wardrobe door and makes her way through the repaired room.
In the months since finding her way here Ostara has rebuilt much of the keep. There are certain rooms that Ostara has put off repairing because she very rarely uses them and aside from a quick clean and the occasional spell to help keep the room from becoming a safety hazard Ostara has left them alone. They're mostly guest rooms and sitting rooms. None of which Ostara really needs to deal with at the moment.
Her potions lab on the other hand? Ostara spends a good portion of her time there. She's repaired nearly all of the damage done to it over the years, filled the store room with dried herbs from the little garden of plants she'd stumbled across one morning, and has even turned one of the rooms attached to the main room into a sitting room of sorts, with transfigured furniture carefully arranged to look a bit like the common room Hermione spent so much of her time in.
Stepping into the lab, Ostara smiles and makes her way across the room to the fire pit where her eggs are waiting.
"Good morning lovlies," She greets as she reaches down to brush her fingertips over the shells. "How are you this morning?"
Contentment danced through her, a soft sort of joy, a feeling she always got when she came to visit and speak with the eggs incubating in the pit.
It had confused her at first. Being able to sense the emotions of the little dragons developing in their eggs hadn't been something Ostara had thought possible. Not even the Targaryens had been able to do such a thing, not that she knew of anyway. Research hadn't much helped as there weren't many books Ostara could get her hands on that pertained to the dragons from Hermione's world.
Eventually she'd had to accept that it must be due to the dragon's magic and her own in addition to whatever biological factors the dragons had.
"I hope that whenever you hatch you don't try to bite my face off." Ostara mutters, vaguely worried that due to her not being an actual dragon that the hatchlings might actually try it.
Indignation flashes hot in her breast. Sever little voices echoing in her mind soon after, faint like a whisper.
Never, they seem to say, never.
"Well, it's good to know I'm safe at the very least."
She just hopes none of the little eggs hatch to be a Peruvian Vipertooth... Ostara's in no way mentally prepared to handle whatever mess that would cause.
Rising up from her kneeling position next to the pit Ostara rolls her shoulders before turning and making her way over to the cauldron simmering over a low flame. The contents within heated to a rolling boil of pink-hued liquid.
It's her first experimental potion. She's hoping that it'll be similar to a pesticide when it's done. Seeing as this world doesn't have many of those and Ostara has a pretty healthy stock of medical potions... Well, her main concern right now is getting her secondary home to a point where it can be self sufficient. Having healthy plant produce is crucial to that.
Ostara vanishes the bluebell flames beneath the cauldron and once the mixture has calmed a bit she begins stirring. It takes twenty stirs for the mixture to begin turning a milky blue, a lighter shade then any of her earlier attempts which had turned shades between a blueberry and deep navy. They hadn't worked, well they had actually, if you consider killing the plants Ostara had tested them on as 'working'.
She waits for the mixture to cool before ladling the mixture into a series of phials.
"Well," she says as she looks to Rubeus who's curled up a few feet away from the fire pit, "I think this is the batch."
Rubeus just yawns in her direction before curling into an even tighter ball so he can go about ignoring her. Ostara shakes her head as she moves the phials to a rack where they'll sit overnight to make sure they've cooled down entirely. She'll test them out tomorrow. Right now she needs to go about cleaning up her area and get back to Storm's End so she can get some sleep.
~X~
"A letter for you, Ostara." Maester Cressen says, holding out a letter sealed with crimson wax.
It's from King's Landing, likely from Rhaegar.
Ostara takes the letter from the older man and taps the corner against her palm as she debates whether or not to open it here. She hasn't heard from Rhaegar in a few weeks and if she's being honest Ostara finds herself missing his presence in her life. It's not often that Ostara can have intellectual conversations with people who aren't either entertaining her or tolerating her because she's a Lord's daughter.
Talking to her family or Cerys or Cressen is different because she sees them every day. They know almost every aspect of her life and so it's nice to be able to talk to people outside of her home.
But then, the letter's likely going to be centered around congratulating her mother's pregnancy and Ostara isn't sure how riveting that conversation's going to end up being.
"Thank you Maester Cressen," Ostara says as she tucks the letter between the cover of her book and the first page.
She offers the man a smile before turning and making her way toward her chambers so she can read Rhaegar's letter and respond accordingly. The soft ache of he thighs ignored for the moment. Daevyn Sand has gotten it into his head that running every morning before dawn is a phenomenal idea. Ostara hates it, she's not a runner.
So she spent the first few hours of her day huffing and puffing as she followed behind Daevyn as he ran the parapets of Storm's End.
What she'd really like right about now is a bath but she needs to get her studies out of the way so she can go back to Valyria and test her pesticide. Doing it as soon as possible would be best seeing as there's going to be a celebratory feast tonight to honor Cassana Baratheon's pregnancy which means Ostara will be expected to stay and participate in the festivities.
Closing the door to her chambers Ostara makes her way over to the writing desk and takes a seat. She pulls out Rhaegar's letter only after she's placed her books to the side and has pulled out her inkwell, the quill she places right beside it is from one of Maester Cressen's ravens.
She breaks the seal on the letter and takes a moment to read.
Rhaegar had always called her Lady Ostara in his earlier letters so it comes as a bit of a surprised to see nothing but a simple Ostara written at the top corner of the page. But as odd as it is Ostara doesn't think it's inappropriate. They're friends after all and these letters are private. No one would dare to open Rhaegar's letter but if someone had Ostara would know.
Deciding not to think about it too much Ostara continues reading.
She'd been right for the most part. Rhaegar was writing to congratulate her on her mother's pregnancy and to say something about the good fortune of House Baratheon. Ostara skims that part of the letter as it doesn't interest her all that much and focuses more on the second half in which Rhaegar apologizes for not having written in so long and inquires after her well being.
The resulting four page later Ostara writes in response is quick to address Rhaegar's congratulations before delving into the happenings of the past few weeks. She leaves out the magic bit but tells about her studies and the books she's read and by the end of her letter Ostara's fingers are cramping and her wrist aches but it feels good to talk to someone that isn't her parents or her brother or her friends.
Black wax seals the letter and Ostara smiles as she sets it off to the side to be delivered to King's Landing.
~X~
The pesticide ends up killing the little potted plant Ostara's used to test her potion. It's one of many she's pulled from the garden of Storm's End and while it had been dying before she'd brought it to Valyria it's disappointing to see the little plant turn brown and brittle.
Sighing, Ostara marks down the results of the potion in her log book before vanishing the potion.
Maybe she needs to supplement a new ingredient? She's tried experimenting with the heat and the amount of times she's stirred it or left it but she's stuck to familiar ingredients for the most part. Maybe if she uses Flobberworm mucus? It'll thicken the potion up and while Ostara isn't sure that's an issue it would never hurt to try. It's not like she can't handle any possible mishaps.
"Well," she tells the dragons in the fire pit after cleaning her station, "that was disappointing."
There's a sense of uncertain amusement which makes Ostara smile and shake her head. Without much thought Ostara reaches out to rearrange the dragons to ensure they're all getting the same amount of heat. The physical contact seems to please the dragons developing in their eggs and so Ostara makes a mental note to set more time aside for such things as it might help with their development.
~X~
When Renly is born Ostara is nine years old and absolutely in love with the little screaming bundle in her mother's arms. He's small and squishy and his eyes are that unsettled blue-grey that'll probably settle into the bright blue of the Baratheon line.
Ostara adores him.
She makes that pretty clear.
Transfiguring stones into little trinkets to decorate the nursery where Ostara and Stannis had spent the first four years of their life. She reads him books, talking in a clear voice so that he can hear her, and she spends as much time with him between her lessons and self-proclaimed duties as possible. Her parents think it's adorable.
But the two of them are still siblings and Ostara sometimes finds herself growing annoyed with the little boy.
Like today, Renly's been crying for quite some time now and no matter what they do he won't stop. Ostara understands that he doesn't have any other way of communicating with them, that he probably doesn't feel well, that there are hundreds of factors playing into this situation and that she shouldn't be too annoyed but... She hasn't had any sleep and Daevyn hadn't been easy on her during their lessons.
She's exhausted and sore and a little irritated seeing as she's getting closer to perfecting her pesticide but it's taking so much time.
"What do you want?" Ostara asks as she moves to stand over Renly.
Instead of answering the babe sputters and wails and his little face goes red, red, red.
Something in her chest eases and the irritation dies just as fast.
Without much thought Ostara reaches into the crib and pulls Renly out, cradling him in her arms as she makes her way over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. The wet nurse will be back soon, she'd gone to get Cressen after Ostara had offered to sit with the babe, and she's glad for the solitude.
She curls up on the chair, careful of Renly's little head, and uses one foot to rock the chair back and forth as she talks to Renly. She tells him about magic and wonder and a boy with a lightning bolt scar. Eventually Renly falls asleep, the heat of his body causing Ostara's arm to sweat, but she doesn't move.
That's how their mother finds them moments later with Maester Cressen and the wet nurse in tow. A nine year old girl in a lavender dress curled up in an overly large wooden chair with a babe held carefully in her arms.
Cassana smiles as she scoops Renly out of Ostara's arms and shoos her off to go about her own business after placing a chaste kiss to her forehead. Maester cressen and the wet nurse merely smile.
~X~
"Did you hear? Queen Rhaella is pregnant." Cerys says one night after the two have curled up on Ostara's bed.
"How do you know that?" Ostara wonders, never looking up from the book spread across her lap.
"My mother overheard the Cook talking about it."
This time Ostara does look up, "And how does he know?"
"Maybe he overheard someone else talking about it?"
"Well," Ostara says, "I'm happy for her."
And Ostara is happy for Rhaella. The woman deserves any happiness she can get... Especially after everything that's happened with Aerys over the past few months. But there's a part of Ostara that wonders what will happen if the babe's a girl.
Surely the King would be happy seeing as there's no sister-wife for Rhaegar.
And that's the problem.
Rhaegar had hinted at the idea being abhorrent when she'd written to him last. Ostara assumes he'd been hesitant to say anything outright against the concept of incest for a number of reasons, one being that he's literally the product of it and to a certain extent there's probably some gratefulness, and then there's the fact that he might be worried someone's attempting to read his letters.
Either way Ostara thinks that Rhaegar finds a fair bit of disgust with the idea of marrying and bedding his sister.
"Do you think it will survive?" Cerys asks.
"There's always a chance."
"I hope it lives."
Ostara turns her head to smile at the other girl and nods. "Me too." She says.
Several moments pass before Cerys speaks again.
"Do you think Addam is attractive?"
"Addam Storm? The scullery maid's son? That Addam?"
"Yes, do you think he's attractive?" Cerys asks, eyes wide.
"No," Ostara intones. "I think he's an absorbed prick."
Beside her Cerys laughs and it's a soft thing that seems to fill the space around them.
"He's not so bad."
"Cerys, I love you and I support you but what in the Seven Hells do you see in him?" Ostara demands.
Because Addam Storm is an entitled little prick. A womanizing toe-rag. The less Ostara has to bother with him the better.
"I think he's attractive is all... And I think he'd sire some very precious babes."
"First of all, you don't need to be thinking of babes right now alright? Second, if you can wait a few years I'll find you an even more attractive husband, one that won't find comfort in another woman's bed."
And Cerys giggles as she leans over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek.
"Sometimes," the older girl says as she pulls back, "I forget you're only nine. You speak as adults do."
"Fortunately for me I speak as adults do too." Ostara remarks blandly, turning her attention back to her book.
She ignores the amused chortling beside her in favor of purging the image of Cerys and Addam (and their children) 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.
It is not a pleasant dream.
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 there 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 dealt with 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 motivations? 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 of roasting flesh makes her eyes water.
And then there is something gripping 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 feels something hot unfurl in her stomach, a flower made of sunlight and solar flame blooming in her chest cavity.
Ostara reaches back and shoves her hand against the ice cold flesh of the creature's head.
The creature, freshly killed, looms over her mouth opened wide to display red soaked teeth. It attempts to wrap its hand around her throat, attempts to dig its finger nails in until the skin breaks enough for the creature to dig his fingers into the wound, hook his fingers, and pull. Ostara doesn't give it the chance.
~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 nearing eleven years old and she's already been through puberty once, 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 transfigures herself some special linens that will line her small clothes for the time being, 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 his 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 considered old enough to be betrothed to some Lord's son.
If Ostara is being honest with herself, it is unlikely that will be happening for some time after. Hopefully there will be enough time for her to finish developing before her father either sends her off to the Capitol to serve as some High Lady's companion in the hopes that someone will send a raven to inquire after her hand, or begins accepting ravens from Lords around the whole of Westeros.
By then Ostara will be well into her fourteenth summer but even then it will be a year or so before her father tries to marry her off.
Ostara rolls her eyes. She's never, ever going to just roll over and let her father dictate her life like that. Steffon Baratheon may be a lord but he isn't her master. She'll listen to him, she'll agree to at the very least meet the men, but in the end it'll be her decision on whether or not she wants to continue with a courtship or no.
If he doesn't like it that's entirely on him.
Reaching the door leading to her parents' solar Ostara smooths out her skirt before knocking on the door. 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 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."
"I suffer no discomforts."
"I'm glad to hear it... You've spoken to the Septa about this, yes? About what is happening?"
"Yes, apparently I am a woman now. I will marry and give my husband heirs."
Her mother makes a face but for the most part ignores Ostara's sarcasm.
"Not for some time, pet."
"Then you should tell that to the Septa as she's under the impression that I will wed tomorrow and give my husband 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? Have they already been discussing possible marriages? It wouldn't surprise Ostara any. Peaces and alliances are built off of marriages in some cultures, Westeros is no different.
Ostara presses her lips together, tries not to frown.
This entire situation is giving her a headache.
"Will everyone know?" Ostara demands almost bitterly.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. You'll be a woman grown soon enough. The fact you've flowered won't remain a secret for long." Cassana reaches out to run the pad of her thumb over Ostara's cheek.
There's a certain look in her eyes that makes Ostara very suspicious.
Unfortunately, Hermione had never studied Legilimens during her life. She'd found the practice barbaric and violating, but she'd also understood the benefits of it. During her life Hermione had studied occlumency instead.
A decision that's benefited her greatly in most situations... But not this one.
"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?"
"I won't be sold like cattle. Not to anyone. Especially not to someone I don't know or trust... And I will never trust anyone who attempts to exert power over me nor will I respect them."
Her mother laughs a strange-strangled laugh, shakes her head, and says, "Nothing quite so serious will happen as that. You're father would never allow anyone to marry you who wasn't worthy of you. You will be given a proper, suitable match... One that might very well make you happy?"
"Do you believe I'll consent to a match I have no say in, mother?"
Something sad crosses into her mother's gaze.
"There is no true happiness for those like us, Ostara," Her mother frowns as she speaks. "You are the daughter of a great Lord and while you might be happy for a moment... It is the price that must be paid."
"I see."
And she supposes she does. Women in this society are seen as inferior for the most part, weaker, and to many a woman's place is seen as determinable by a man with more power. Perhaps the small folk have more freedom, perhaps they can marry for love. Ostara doesn't know. She thinks that maybe she should start spending more time with the small folk.
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~
Hundreds of miles away in a temple made of pale stone a woman with russet eyes counts the coin in her purse one more time before slipping the pouch into one of the hidden pockets lining the inside of her robes.
It will take her some time to reach Westeros and even longer to find that who she seeks, and while she has no doubt she can survive the trip on the generosity of those who follow the path of R'hllor there is always the possibility she will be forced to seek shelter and food elsewhere. People are not so willing to tend to those serving the Lord of Light, not when they are seen as a threat to false gods.
Melisandre grits her teeth and glances toward the flame burning in the center of her chambers.
A brief flash of wild eyes and ebony curls and a wicked smile is all she sees before the flame swallows the image up.
It's no matter. Melisandre is already quite familiar with the image of the girl. She has the sharpness of her cheekbones and the tilt of her eyes memorized. It will take time to find the girl but Melisandre already suspects where her Lord of Light's chosen may be.
Smiling to herself Melisandre slips from her chambers and into the darkness of the corridor beyond.