Vanya hatches mere days after Ostara catches Rhaegar in the tavern. The little tarnished-silver egg shaking and trembling and eventually splitting into tiny little pieces as Vanya shoves her way through the thick, rough textured calcium. Ostara watches with barely concealed joy, eyes never straying to the large pile of gold and gems she'd hauled up from the treasury for Vanya earlier.
Even the other three dragons remain still, unusually quiet, as they watch their sister emerge from her egg.
Mother, she hears Vanya before the dragon has even shaken the last of the egg shell from her body, I've come.
Across the room Orlaith snarls, fire spilling from between razor sharp teeth.
Ostara doesn't even get a chance to chastise the teenaged dragon before Vanya is tossing her head back, throwing out her wings, and letting out a shrill cry that makes even Ostara's head spin. But while she's merely forced to shut her eyes and wince the other dragons in the room all drop their heads, bodies pulling into hunched postures, and only when Vanya stops shrieking do the others dart for the newly enlarged window.
They don't go far.
Each one finds the remains of a parapet or a tower to perch on and all of them remain there, eyes focused, as Vanya shuffles out of the pit and over to where Ostara and Rubeus are kneeling by the pit.
They'll learn, mother.
"What did you do?"
Vanya tips her head, metallic scales gleaming in the light. She almost looks as if she's lost deep in her thoughts with her narrowed eyes and relaxed posture.
Ostara takes a moment to truly study her.
The Unkrainian Ironbelly breed is a bipedal one, with rough scales harder then steel, long talons, and an immense wingspan. They're an impressive breed for that alone, but what Ostara truly remembers about the breed is their size. The male she and her boys had ridden all those years ago had been massive; and while underweight and unhealthy it had been one of the most terrifying things she'd ever seen... And that had just been a male.
Supposedly the females are bigger, stronger, and meaner than hell.
Their bodies built to protect not only their treasure troves but their nests and hatchlings as well.
I am the oldest, the strongest, they know this.
"You're not the oldest." Ostara remarks. "You've only just hatched."
A chirp of laughter nearly startles Ostara.
I was aware before they were, I spoke to you before they did, I bonded with you before they were able to. Vanya moves closer, serpentine and threatening in a way Ostara would think was practiced if she didn't know better. I am yours just as they are, but you? You, Ostara Baratheon, are mine. My mother, my rider, mine.
Ostara swallows.
"One for the warrior destined to bring the dawn, one for the dragonborn who lives not as a pawn. One for the man doomed to die, one for the beauty destined to fly. The rest for the children born in the peace, after the darkness Azor Ahai beats." Ostara finds herself muttering the words she's been dreaming of for days now.
Me, Melrin, Janus, Orlaith... And the rest, one day.
"I don't understand."
Vanya stares at her through eyes colored similarly to a cinnabar stone, or perhaps just the pure unquenchable flames or a forest fire. Ostara's never been good at waxing poetic. It's funny that she's trying to now.
You are our mother, ours, our loyalty is to you as is our devotion, Vanya slinks closer, but you are not the only one who will ride us.
Suddenly Vanya is in her lap, sharp little claws digging into Ostara's thighs and consequently drawing little pinpricks of blood. It hurts far less then Ostara would have thought... Probably because dragon talons are so very, very sharp.
It's a wonder none of them have accidentally shredded her skin.
"How do you know these things?"
Vanya stills but says nothing.
Instead she slowly scuttles off of Ostara's lap and over to the gold piled up in her corner where she picks through the gold and jewels, tossing some aside in favor of others. Ostara makes sure to take note of the jewels she doesn't like. Diamonds and garnets and perfectly cut emeralds. She prefers pearls, and opals, and uncut gems over the more polished ones.
Ostara watches her for a long moment before she rises and makes her way over to the window to check on the others. She smiles when she sees them slicing through the sky. Streaks of vibrant colors gleaming in the light of the moon that hangs over Valyria like a perfectly shined coin.
A man came to me once, after you held me that first time, Ostara hears, he told me things...
"And you believed him?"
Vanya peaks her head out of the golden pile to stare at Ostara.
Why would I not, mother?
"You didn't know this man. He may have been a hallucination."
All dragons know the hooded one, mother, we do not fear him as mortal beings do.
"Death spoke to you?"
He has spoken to all of us, mother. Vanya disappears into the pile of gold and jewels but her voice is sharp and rings through the air like a scream.
Neither of them speak again after that.
Perhaps it's for the better, Ostara's head is reeling and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she turns her attention back to the three dragons shooting through the sky above the ruins of a great civilization brought so very, very low. Sighing quietly to herself Ostara makes her way out onto the landing pad she constructed for her dragons.
Soon they'll be too big to fit through the window but that doesn't mean they can't remain close to her while she works on her potions. Often times she'll return to Valyria and find her dragons curled up on the landing strip where the sun can warm them, lull them into sleep.
Ostara presses her lips together.
They're growing so quickly, developing an intelligence and even abilities Ostara never thought possible. How foolish she was, to think that her blood would not affect them, to think that the circumstances of their birth would not make them special.
With a low huff Ostara stretches out her hand and laughs as a scaled foot brushes her fingertips.
The resounding, delighted, absolutely elated choruses of ; Mother come with us! Mother fly with us! almost has Ostara stepping over the ledge to play a suicidal version of trust exercises with her dragons. But she pulls back before the urge gets the best of her, much to her children's chagrin.
Ostara will fly, this she knows, but her dragons are still small and Ostara refuses to put them in any sort of danger of death or discomfort.
A series of bemused yips, chirps, and shrieks follow Ostara as she turns her back on the open skies and makes her way back into her potion's room where Rubeus is waiting for her.
~X~
"You've been busy." Melisandre says when Ostara returns to her chambers well before the sun has risen in the sky.
Ostara smells of burning herbs and experimentation gone wrong. She just wants to transfigure a properly sized bathtub and get herself a nice bath before anyone comes to rouse their supposedly sleeping mistress. Ostara's tempted to go ahead and do so anyway, even with Melisandre perched upon her bed like a satisfied cat, Ostara can't bring herself to care about the other woman's presence.
"I'm always busy."
"Yes, it is a great service you do... Though, perhaps not so great as what is to come."
"Is there something you'd like to say? If so please make it quick. I'd like to bathe."
Melisandre rises, her gown fluttering around her ankles as she walks over to where Ostara is standing.
Once she's close enough the older woman places a gentle hand on Ostara's cheek, soft thumb running over the prominent jut of her cheekbone. There's a reference there, a sort of worship that Ostara's mildly uncomfortably with. But no matter what she's said to the Red Woman, Melisandre always continues looking at Ostara like she's something unimaginably precious.
It's almost humbling in a way.
"I saw you in the flames, a bit older then you are now... You rode on a dragon the color of iron above an army of free men. In the flames you are Mhysa, Breaker of Chains, Dragon Mother, the Witch Queen." Melisandre stares at her for a long moment. "These are the titles bestowed upon Azor Ahai."
"I haven't done any of those things yet, Melisandre." Ostara remarks as she pulls away. "Have you found anything about the Three-Eyed Crow?"
Melisandre's smile is knowing as she says, "I have not been shown anything in the flames... Perhaps there is another way for you to find it."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You are Azor Ahai, with fire in your veins and magic at your fingertips. My magic is limited to what my Lord of Light wishes for me to accomplish but you? You are far more power than I could ever hope to be."
Ostara purses her lips before saying, "I don't know enough about him to attempt a locator spell and even if I did there's no way of telling whether or not it would work."
Across from her Melisandre bows her head, auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders.
"It was merely a suggestion. I shall continue to search for the Three-Eyed Crow, but I ask you to consider my words once you've rested and regained your strength." With that said Melisandre disappears from the room in a swirl of bright red and alabaster flesh.
Ostara stares at the space she'd been occupying, suddenly too tired to even think about baths.
Without so much as removing her shoes Ostara throws herself onto the bed and looses herself to sleep.
~X~
You're taking too long, little dragon.
Ostara purses her lips, trying to ignore the voice of the Three-eyed Crow.
"How do you expect me to come to you? By dragon? By magic? I've no idea where you are." Ostara bites out.
You know exactly where I am, little dragon.
"Do I?"
Even if you did not, you would find me.
Ostara sighs and turns to face the being only to find herself staring at haunted red eyes, white-washed flesh similar in texture to that of old parchment crumpled one too many times, and a large wine red mark spreading across the side of his face. Familiarity flares in Ostara's chest and it takes but a moment for her to realize just who this man, being, creature is. And when she does the young witch swallows thickly before furrowing her brows at her ancestor.
"Everyone thought Brynden Rivers died." Ostara remarks rather blandly.
There's no questions about how he survived, how he's not all bone and no flesh, because there's a very reasonable explanation and that explanation is; Magic, an old and thriving magic that has somehow kept Brynden from completely dying. He's aged, this is obvious, but he has lived for a great many years... Well past that of a normal human.
Her ancestor smiles wickedly.
I was once called Brynden. No longer. Now I am called Three-Eyed Crow.
"How come you've come to me like this? In this form?"
This time the man's smile is a twisted, menacing thing.
Come to me and I'll tell you, little dragon.
And then Brynden disappears in a flurry of black feathers, leaving Ostara to watch after him as he turns into nothing but mist and shadows.
~X~
When she wakes the shadows in the room suggest she's slept through lunch and someone's changed her clothes. Probably Cerys. Or maybe Melisandre. Either way, Ostara's thankful that they took her shoes off and got her into a clean night dress.
Groaning, Ostara rolls out of bed and shuffles over to the wash basin where she wets a linen cloth and carefully runs it along her face and neck. While it's not a proper bath it's something. It removes the dirt residue and the ash dust from her skin and leaves it feeling less gritty if nothing else.
A gentle tapping at the door is the only warning she has before Cerys prances into the room, arms loaded with freshly washed laundry. The blonde smiles when she sees Ostara but doesn't stop making her way toward the wardrobe and chests where the clothes usually go.
"You're awake! I told the Queen you were feeling unwell."
"You went to the Queen?"
"Oh, yes, she was very kind."
Ostara didn't think Rhaella would be anything but. The woman's naturally sweet natured and even when she's speaking to servants there's never been an ounce of contempt or disgust in her tone so far as Ostara's heard.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you were feeling a bit unwell and they you required rest." Cerys levels her with a look. "You need to sleep more, Ostara, you look terrible."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Ostara shakes her head before moving to the desk where she takes a seat and pulls out her writing set.
"Will you eat at least?" Cerys asks.
"Later."
The quill in her hand is suddenly pulled from her fingers as Cerys gathers up her materials to set them to the side. Ostara watches her with a raised eyebrow and a slight scowl. She needs to plan. If she's going North then Ostara needs to plan, needs to settle all of her options. She can eat later, once she's done with her task. Apparently, Cerys doesn't agree.
The petite blonde shoots Ostara a fiery glare before she places both hands on her hips.
"I'll have food brought up to you and I expect you to eat every single morsel on your plate. Am I understood?" Cerys demands.
"Perfectly."
Ostara wants to tell the blonde that she's acting like her mother but doubts that will go over well with the blonde... If anything, it'll only make Cerys more adamant about making sure Ostara eats something. So it's best to just let the girl have her way.
"Good, I'll be back shortly."
With that Cerys pivots on her heel and stomps from the room, slamming the door behind her after she's stepped out into the corridor beyond Ostara's chambers. It takes a moment for Ostara to realize that she's truly angered her friend, or if not angered then worried her greatly.
I like her, mother.
Shrieking, Ostara whips around to stare at her wardrobe where two blazing eyes are piercing through the darkness and shadows.
"What are you doing here?" Ostara demands in a low hiss.
The little Ukrainian Ironbelly slinks out of the wardrobe before scuttling across the floor toward where Ostara's seated; little claws click, click, clicking across the stone.
I came to see my mother.
"You're going to get caught." Ostara hisses.
This is bad, so bad.
If anyone were to see Vanya they'd surely go to the King... Which would only cause more trouble then it's worth. And that's if they even go to the King at all. Chances are one of them might start screaming about monsters and try and lop Vanya's head off, which won't result in much more then Ostara beating someone to death for the attempt.
No, mother, I won't be seen by the unworthy.
"Vanya."
The dragon says nothing, merely makes her way beneath Ostara's night dress and curls tight around her ankle. Pinching the bridge of her nose Ostara begins to wonder if this is going to be an issue later on down the road. Obviously, all of her dragons have imprinted upon her but this seems... Different. The only other dragon to brave the Red Keep had been Janus and he hadn't stuck around after Ostara sent him off, nor had he returned.
She attempts to coax Vanya off her ankle, when that doesn't work Ostara resorts to trying to pry her little body off. Again. It doesn't work.
Gritting her teeth Ostara resigns herself to a day full of worrying and hiding in her chambers.
~X~
In the months following Vanya's hatching Ostara turns fifteen.
She hadn't been planning anything for it, in fact, she's entirely forgot about it between getting the Maester settled in at the orphanage, tending to the common folk, spending time with her dragons, and juggling the day-to-day drama of King's Landing. If it hadn't been for Cerys and Daevyn gifting her with little trinkets the morning of her birthday Ostara wouldn't have even realized she'd forgotten about it.
Expecting the day to be full of back handed complements from other Ladies, well wishes from those of kinder nature, and maybe an awkward interaction with Rhaegar she'd been caught completely unaware when Aerys had, in front of the entire court, wished her a very happy name's day before ordering the servants to present her with a truly stunning piece of jewelry.
Ostara had stared at the diamonds, at the choker-like center piece, at the finely cut jewels practically dripping from the larger diamonds, and had been at a complete loss for words. Eventually she'd managed to choke out a thank you of some sorts before taking the gift. She'd tried to refuse it at first, obviously, but only once and the King had insisted that she take it.
After the court is dismisses and the King makes his way back to his personal chambers or perhaps to the Small Council chambers, Ostara is quick to find Rhaegar. The jewelry his father gave to him clutched tightly in her hand.
"May we have a private word?" Ostara asks when she manages to find Rhaegar.
He's with Barristan Selmy, the man looks vaguely unsettled.
"My prince, my lady." The knight says before stepping further off to guard the couple from prying eyes and spying ears.
Once he's gone Rhaegar grips her wrist, his fingers are calloused and Ostara finds that she rather likes the way he's holding her. Not too tightly, like she's some sort of possession to be managed, and not to soft, like a breakable glass thing in need of protecting. He treats her gently but with a firmness Ostara appreciates.
"Why did you father gift me this necklace?" Ostara demands, holding out the heavy wooden case the necklace is safe in.
Rhaegar looks as though he wishes to pull the box from her fingers and chuck it out the window to their left. Ostara honestly wouldn't mind if he did. Having this necklace seems wrong, wearing it would make her feel dirty, and she doesn't know what wearing this necklace will mean for her in the long run.
"It is your name's day."
"Yes, but that doesn't explain this."
Lavender eyes meet harsh plum and Ostara watches as Rhaegar deflates.
The fingers around her wrist drift to the swell of her cheek where a curl has escaped the poor confines of the jeweled hair net to bounce around her face. He doesn't attempt to tuck it behind her ear or to wrap it around his finger, in fact, he jerks away rather quickly when he actually touches her face. It's like he's afraid to touch her, like he's struggling with himself over something vaguely foolish.
Rhaegar's attractive, their parents want them to marry, the only thing getting in the way of that is Ostara's refusal to be forced into a marriage where she'll be expected to sit around and look pretty, pop out a few babies, and live miserably all in all. Ostara refuses to be anything less then an equal in any of her marriages, past or future, why would not be any different?
While she doesn't think Rhaegar would do that to her, make her give up parts of herself to fit his views of women, she's still not going to let anyone back her into a corner; his family or hers.
So instead of blushing or stuttering Ostara merely raises an eyebrow at Rhaegar's action and asks, "Is it because he wants us to marry?"
"You're very blunt, Lady Ostara."
"And you're dodging the question."
Silver hair gleams softly as Rhaegar bows his head, the light from outside casting him in a warm glow.
"I believe it may be a cause, yes."
"May be?"
The constant questions seem to make Rhaegar uncomfortable.
Sighing, Ostara closes her eyes for a moment and tries not to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"Rhaegar, please, I'm your friend. Friends look after one another. If it's something to worry about I need to be aware." Ostara whispers as softly as she can without becoming inaudible.
Across from her Rhaegar level her with a look that says everything and nothing before nodding his head.
"I don't believe it's anything to be concerned over but... Perhaps only wear the necklace once?"
Nodding her understanding Ostara reaches out to take Rhaegar's hand in her own.
"Thank you, Rhaegar. I appreciate your honesty."
"Of course, Lady Ostara."
He places a chaste kiss on her knuckles before departing.
Ostara watches until he's rounded the corner before turning and making her way back to her own chambers to rid herself of the necklace.
Whether or not Rheagar knows it his answer put a fair bit of caution in Ostara. If the King is willing to throw such frivolous gifts at her what else might he do? And for what purpose? She doubts it's simply to garnish her favor. There are other, less expensive ways to do that. The King wants something more then just her favor and Ostara has a sinking suspicion she already knows what that may be.