01
Magister Illyrio Mopatis was a powerful man, his vast richness a result of his profitable activities as a merchant dealing with spices, gemstones, slaves and cheese, an odd combination that he managed to work into the empire he now possessed. His home reflected his success, grand and full of luxury, a beautiful structure overlooking the bay just at the right angle to witness the sunrise every morning.
The garden didn't fall short with its beauty, larger that the house itself, a mix of greenery, trees and bushes of all sizes, rare flowers she couldn't name surrounded the property like a natural barrier. In the middle of it, sat a tall fountain, carved in white stone so smooth she could see her reflection on it.
A sad face stared back a her.
The Targaryen features were much too prominent to deny the truth. Lilac eyes and pale hair as white as the lone moon that hung above her. She smiled sadly and the face of Daenerys Targaryen copied her.
The Daenerys Targaryen, the woman with one of the worst ending in T.V history of modern times.
She had woken up not long ago, drenched in sweat and with a headache, dressed in a nightgown and covered in silky sheets. The room hadn't stopped spinning until someone- a Maester- had forced a hot, bitter liquid down her throat to bring her back from her episode. She had almost slapped him away from her and she would've succeed if it weren't for a woman grabbing her hand at the last moment.
About to become hysterical, she struggled to release herself from the woman's firm grasp when a tall shadow standing by the door caught her attention, more specifically his hair. It was so unnaturally white that it stood out in the middle of chaos. Frantic eyes roamed his figure, abruptly stopping at his face. Lilac eyes, pale hair.
She couldn't quite pin point where she had seen him until he came closer and the warm candlelight lit his features better.
"Viserys," The name left her lips in surprise.
"Your grace, your sister seems to respond positively to your presence." The Maester spoke.
She frowned at the word. Surely he wasn't talking about her?
"Dany," Viserys called, his tone desperate, "How are you feeling?"
Dread brewed within her, slowly she raised a hand to pick a lock of hair, instead of her black, wavy hair, she picked a smooth silvery strand.
She couldn't remember much after that, just that she had been given medicine and told to rest and wait for her body to sweat the fever away. Of course, she didn't do as told and waited until Viserys and the Maester were gone to ask the woman for a mirror.
Confused, the woman asked her to repeat herself.
"A mirror. I need one." She felt like she was descending into madness, "Something to look at my face."
At that, understanding dawned on her and she quickly went into an adjacent door and came back with what she requested, "A looking glass." She presented the polished silver, holding it at head level.
The air was knocked out of her lungs.
"Do they call it that in Westeros?" The woman curiously asked, a spark in her eyes, "Mi-rror, mi-rror," she repeated the word, emphasizing the 'M' sound, "Mirror."
She gave no answer, too preoccupied studying the woman reflected on the m- looking glass.
After that, she had begged the woman to let her outside to get some fresh air, claiming that the smell of sickness hung in the room.
A light tap on her shoulder made her jump, "We should return inside. It's getting colder." The woman helped her up and she complied.
She had no answers as to why or how she was here, living inside the body of a fictional character but as the days went by and she found herself still stuck here, she knew she couldn't waste more time lamenting herself. Daenerys' life would be full of hardships and it was up to her to land on top. With her heart heavy, Daenerys knew what she had to do.