Daenerys Targaryen wasn't sure where she was at the moment.
She remembered watching the sunset from the window of her room in Magister Illyrio's manse before she was abruptly somewhere else, somewhere she had always and never hoped to be again.
Suddenly she was a small child once more. She was by Ser Willem Darry's bedside, watching him draw in shaky unsteady breaths as he wasted away before her eyes in that house with the red door. She tried unsuccessfully to keep her tears at bay as the man who had looked after her and her brother hovered at the edge of death's domain, his every breath labored and drawn.
She couldn't bear to see the man who had saved herself and her brother by getting across the sea to Braavos. She could still smell the lemon tree in the courtyard outside, hear the faint murmur of the people who moved past their hideaway on the streets. But it was all muted: the face of her family's loyal former master-at-arms looking blankly up at the ceiling of that room.
She didn't know what was happening or why she was thinking of this memory now of all times. Before her eyes, the room shifted, changed to become some strange amalgamation of the bedside and the great hall with the carved animals that seemed to hold creatures both strange and mundane to her young mid. But this was different from the room she remembered, that much was clear.
The carvings were alive.
Ravens and eagles and mockingbirds and sparrows all flew among the high rafters pursued by harpies and winged serpents and dragons whilst the lions and wolves and stags and foxes bit and swiped and snarled at each other while snakes and mice and nipped at their collective heels: all of them engaged in a melee that was as bloody as it was energetic.
Seeing the wood splinter and crack with each strike landed, Daenerys watched as a fire erupted from a figure of a wolf, quickly beginning to consume the support beams of the room. Dany could hear the cries of the animals even as they continued to savage each other while the wood burned. As the heat washed through the room and sparks flew with reckless abandon around the air, she scented the salt air of the sea and the copper tang that came from spilled blood.
Even as she tried to open her mouth to cry out in a manner she couldn't have decided was meant to be confusion or fear the wood cracked and splintered further, blood red vines and leaves forcing their way through the opened gaps in the wood even as she felt water wash over the bottom of her feet. It was as if nature had suddenly imploded and begun to war with itself. She saw the water of the ground rise and impossibly carry the flames toward the wood even as the vines and the leaves lashed out at the fire before driving straight through to push into the outside toward the darkness that had engulfed the world that was surrounding the house and toward Willem Darry even as he lay in bed.
Daenerys attempted to move forward to warn her guardian. But even as she outstretched her hand to cry out to him, he sat up in bed, his mouth opened with an inhuman scream while a blinding light poured from the depths of his jaws and from behind his milky eyes. It drove back the vines even as the leaves attempted to close his opened mouth while they covered his unseeing gaze. The noise was becoming deafening: voices and calls and cries echoing and reverberating in that chaotic chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
Dany noticed in the midst of this that her hand was now the color of ash and dragon glass, eye watering patterns of grey and black swirling on her skin as though she were smoke made flesh. She looked down at herself, the water lapping her ankles now, a ring of rust building up around her toes as though she were a piece of iron left to rust in the uncaring sea. She was starting to look back up when she saw tentacles break through the waves to hold her feet in place, pulling her fast to the shifting surface beneath her feet that couldn't seem to decide whether it was sand or wood.
The noise at last began to reach a crescendo as she looked up. The fires, the vines and the leaves were all combining to create something strange as orange flowers bloomed upon the creepers even while the fires continued burning. The light from Ser Willem's mouth grew bright enough to hurt her eyes more even as the strange leaves flew off the man's face right at her. Instinctively she attempted to pull on the shadows of the ominous night that was just outside her grasp even as the fiery plants and the now tumultuous water worked together to assault her. She instinctively opened her mouth to scream. An unexpected plume of smoke and unfamiliar coldness blasted from her open mouth instead of sound. When it clashed with the light and the fire, it produced a deafening boom and a flare so bright it reminded her dimly of staring directly at the sun as it rose except it felt as though her eyes were inches away from the celestial body.
When the light died down, Ser Willem Darry was standing before her in a void. He smiled as he approached her, right hand alighting on her shoulder in the way she remembered when he had been proud of a painting she'd once attempted to make as a child.
In a disjointed tone he spoke to her, his unhealthy rasp echoing in this strange void of a place.
"From the blood shed by the animals below there shall rise a new flame. From the minds of they who dwell above, there shall come a new peace. When the shadow of the old world seeks to encroach upon the fire of the new world, the outcome shall be salvation in death or rebirth in destruction. For to fight the strength of the divine is to trust the fate of men to their mortal hands."
With a jolt and gasped inhalation, Dany was back in Magister Illyrio's home and knew once again when and where she was.
She held her hand to her racing heart as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The floor of the balcony was still warm beneath her feet, the sandstone of the manse having done much to absorb the sunlight of the day.
The only sounds to be heard was the whispering of the lightest breeze and the vague murmuring of the fountain in the courtyard. The fountain itself was a thing of beauty: a naked young man holding a thin bravossi blade at the ready. Magister Illyrio proclaimed it represented what he had once looked like as a young man. In the privacy of her own mind, Dany was not sure how much of that was the truth and how much of it was Illyrio's own wishful thinking. For she saw no blades that were not held in the hands of his guards and no instruction for swordsmanship that had been given to her brother from himself rather than one of his men.
But that was neither here nor there. She quickly turned around to look at the room behind her.
The silken pillows, the thin curtains that adorned a soft mattress. An oaken closet lined with a gold filigree that gave it a somewhat hypnotizing glow in the sun and torchlight. But otherwise there was nothing personal to the guest room that the Magister had repurposed into her room. She knew this was to be expected considering the man had plucked them off the street soon after her brother had been forced to sell their mother's crown in order to put some food in their grumbling stomachs. They'd only been there for a close to a year now, yet it felt much longer.
As she lowered herself carefully onto the mattress, Dany considered her vision just now.
What was it meant to tell her? The creatures of the wood fighting each other. The fire burning out of control but moving with such a clear purpose. And the sea rising to wash over her while something reached from the deep to stop her from escaping. She rubbed her arms as a phantom shiver ran through her slight frame.
At thirteen, she was just beginning to show the first signs of womanhood. But she was still not quite out of that time of her life when she was looked upon as a child. She had heard her brother Viserys say that her body was not yet that of a queen even if she did carry their family's blood. She closed her lilac eyes as she slowly came to rest her back upon the feathery soft bed, silver white Targaryen hair that shone in the moon and the sun alike fanning out like a curtain beneath her.
What would her brother say to her if she came to him with this? He had been on the street for so long, trying to get someone, anyone really, to show their faith in his claim to the Iron Throne and bring them back home. It had considerably embittered him, his mouth soon becoming more and more set in a cynical sneer as yet one more person who professed loyalty to their family name refused to help a king without a single gold dragon to his name no matter how old his lineage.
When they had been young, she remembered that he had tried to keep her spirits up, telling her stories of their family back in Westeros. Of their proud traditions. Of their feared power that still commanded respect even in this day when the last of the Targaryen dragons had died over two generations before their birth.
Now, all he could talk about was how the dogs of the usurper would pay. How the Starks, the Baratheons and the Lannisters would all pay. Unbidden, the image of the splintering wood came to mind. She had seen all three of those animals upon the wood beams of the house. Or so she imagined she had. Though it wasn't much of a surprise considering how often she had heard of her brother talk about it of late.
She tried to think of the Highborn Lords who had turned against their family. Deposed their father and forced their mother to die upon a heaving ship while the sea raged and screamed at them. Much as it had at Dragonstone when she had been born. But when they made their escape across the Narrow Sea, she had barely been a year old. Her brother had remarked to her sometimes, in his darker moments, that the storm had followed them because of her.
It hurt when he told her that. But perhaps he was right in some way. After all, she had been named Stormborn for the winds and rain that had lashed the ground she'd been born and been taken to. No more had she seen a return of any of the storms that had heralded her entrance to the world. But even when she tried to think of the lords in the west, all that came to mind were shadowy figures.
One with a thinning head of gold, one with wild black hair and one with overgrown lank brown hair. All caricatures. All characters that would fit more with a child's morality play than a real world. The scheming climber. The mindless berserker. The honorable turncoat.
But much like the storm itself, she herself had only the account of her brother, Ser Willem and Ser Willem's household to draw her ideas from. She knew it was likely they were not quite so bad as the stories her brother painted. But still, she'd had nightmares when he told her of what Tywin Lannister had ordered.
Her nephew and niece. A suckling babe and small child. Brutally slain for the sake of slaking the Ursurper's unquenchable lust for Targaryen blood.
She didn't want to dwell on that matter further and so closed her eyes to the lowering sun, trying instead to recall the details she had seen in the carvings. But even as she did so they slipped through her mental fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. She could remember that there were many animals adorning the support beams. But all she could see in her mind was the image of a dragon and a harpy tangled up in each other, their claws tearing gouges in each other and the wood they were impressed upon with each attack.
She wondered if it was a warning or a premonition. Would her brother have to fight a war against an unknown enemy before he would be allowed to reclaim his rightful place in Westeros? She heard movement. Boot heels making loud claps each time they impacted on the way up the hall toward her room.
Her eyes opened of their own accord. She dearly hoped no one had upset her brother and woken the dragon that was his foul temper. He had been sweet to her when they were young, always trying to get her to look on the bright side. But with every successive let down, every simultaneous disappointment, his smiles grew less and less while his anger mounted higher and higher.
She sat up, quickly straightening her shoulders. He had made it clear from previous experience that he did not appreciate it when she was ever acting anything less than what Westeros would consider a proper young woman. Even if it was only the two of them in the room, she would need to be ready for his inspecting eyes that scanned her. Examined her. His gaze made her uncomfortable. It was like he was waiting impatiently for a fruit to ripen so that he could devour it for himself. She was aware of why that was.
She knew the stories of the Targaryen brothers and sisters and their divine passion kindled by their shared blood. But she had never felt anything like that for Viserys. He had only ever been her older brother to her. She stopped that line of thought again. If she thought too deeply about this before he appeared, she would upset herself visibly.
And then the dragon would be awoken.
The object of her recent thoughts appeared in the doorway to her room. He leaned casually against the frame of it, his shorter but equally bright silver white hair framing a face similar to her own, though longer and slightly narrower. His lilac eyes immediately found her, racing over her bare arms and the dark brown silk dress she wore more often than not. The servants remarked that it was somewhat amazing that she didn't sweat herself into unconsciousness wearing the thing. But Daenerys had never found the heat of the manse or the sun uncomfortable. Quite the contrary in fact. She felt comfortable, even safe in the hot open air.
But now, under the eyes of her only family, she felt goose pimples arise on her pale flesh. Her hands absently rose to rub her suddenly chilled skin.
"Hello Viserys." She greeted quietly, standing before giving a curtsy while dipping her head to avoid having to look at him least he read the discomfort in her face's expression.
"Evening sweet sister." He said gently as he pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into her room. He was taller than her by about a head, but had a slender willowy body with equally long skinny fingers. Dany almost instinctively swallowed as his right hand made its way to her left forearm. As he cupped her arm, she thought his palm cool in comparison to her heated skin. His left hand gently trapped her chin between his thumb and forefinger before applying minor but insistent pressure to bring her face to face him.
As their eyes met she saw that while his mouth was smiling, his eyes were somewhat shadowed. She feared what that meant for his temper.
"Are you satisfied here in Magister Illyrio's manse Daenerys?" He asked her, his voice dangerous in that way she had grown to realize meant that there was only one correct answer to the question he had just asked.
She gave a small nod in response.
"Then why have you not taken more pride in his accommodations? Perhaps made it more to your tastes?" He asked silkily, his face less than inches from her own.
Dany's mind raced as she sought to think of an answer that would not wake the dragon.
"I-I haven't yet gotten used to Magister Illyrio's generosity." She got out, only the slight tremble at the beginning of speech giving away her nervousness.
"Be sure you do sister." Viserys said after some moments of silence. He brought his lips to her forehead. He brought his lips to her forehead to kiss it. As he let them linger on the smooth skin of her brow, he whispered to her. "Otherwise, he might get the ludocrious idea that you don't appreciate what he is doing for us. And then you might manage to wake the dragon."
With one last smile, he turned and left her room as purposefully as he had come.
Dany slowly sat herself on her soft bed. She closed her eyes and shakily exhaled. She knew now that she couldn't tell her brother what she had seen. He would never believe her. And even if he did what use would it serve? No, her best option at present was to show her gratitude to Magister Illyrio.
And pray that her future could prove better than her present and her past had thus far.
Author's Note: Another day another chapter. Hope you guys had a lovely holiday and are looking forward to the new year! Many thanks to Quindecim and IWantColoredRain for reviewing the last chapter. I know Daryn Hornwood isn't exactly a widely known character outside the books, but I thought it added a little something to the narrative. Be sure to let me know what you guys think of Dany's encounter with this R'hllor sent vision! :)