Chapter Text
The fire coursed through Rhaenyra’s veins, ripping her flesh from her body, her hair from her scalp. It was agonizing.
She could hear her last boy, her little Aegon, screaming for her, as Sunfyre’s flames enveloped her body and a sob escaped her throat. Let it all end. Let her see the faces of her children. Her greatest love. The man she was so certain had betrayed her in the end. She still missed his loving embrace, his touch.
She wanted her mother, as childish as it was. She wanted to feel her warm hands on her face, hear her soft laugh, and be held in her embrace. Instead voices shock her from final thoughts.
“Rhaenyra,” the voices from all around her spoke gently, “welcome.” She opened her eyes which were full of confusion, wondering were her peace was.
“Welcome?” Rhaenyra repeated, confused. “Where am I?”
The woman smiled brightly. “You are in Balerion's realm.”
The gods before her were formless yet had bodies, unseen and seen at the same time. Slowly, they came into shape, gliding towards her. Their power was unmistakable, their beauty, their strength otherworldly and all encompassing. They resembled those from Valyria but were somehow more.
Before she could stop herself she spoke. “Where are my children?” Rhaenyra demanded hoarsely. “All of them.”
The gods answered as one.
“Safe in our realm no harm will come to them or the others of your blood who fell due to the dance of dragons.”
She breathed out a sigh of relief. Her children had all suffered in life. Even if they no longer live, at least they are safe.
Her breath hitched. “What happened? Why am I here?”
“You died.” They spoke with calm voices that reverberated like fire through stone, “and because of your death, the last pieces of Valyria died out.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded. “How?”
They paused before continuing, staring at her with open sorrow.
“Your ancestors, the three conquerors, claimed Westeros with Fire and Blood after we sent Aegon, first of his name, a prophecy. ‘𝙷𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊 ā𝚗𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚓ā𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚖ā𝚣𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚘 𝚍ā𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚜, 𝚜𝚎 𝚣ȳ𝚑𝚘𝚗 𝚓ā𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚎 𝚟ā𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚢𝚜.’ ”
They paused before continuing. “As you know 𝙳ā𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚜 means Heir, not prince.”
Their words weighed heavily in the air as they once again gave another Targaryen the prophecy. Rhaenyra was overwhelmed to the point of near madness. She had been murdered and now was before the gods. The gods who were telling her it was for nothing.
“Our prophecy was twisted and caused the Kings of house Targaryen to value sons over daughters. All in the name of a foolish misunderstanding. Even at the cost of their wives, including your mother.”
As the woman who should have been Queen processed what her gods had just told her she could not stop the furious, hot rage that only a true dragon could summon, rising up from within her.
“THAT USELESS BASTARD OF A KING KILLED MY MOTHER BECAUSE HE COULD NOT UNDERSTAND BASIC VALYRIAN!”
Her voice was loud and fueled by the anger she had buried deep down inside of her for years. Every time her father, no, every time Viserys failed her. When he killed her mother slowly over years, forced her to bleed out dead babes until he had a maester finish the job, cutting her open awake and without the mercy of milk of poppy. Making her heir, but not giving her any support as crown princess or training to be Queen. Betraying her mother by fucking her only lady even before her Muna’s ashes where even cool. And then twisting the knife by making that Hightower Whore his Queen. Siring son after son and not raising them as dragons but as Hightowers with silver hair.
Too many betrayals to count which lead to deaths of her entire family. And she was not done.
“HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN! MY CHILDREN ARE DEAD… my husband, my family are dead!”
The fourteen flames allowed her to rage and grieve in a way only a dragon who has lost her hatchlings and mate can. After some time Rhaenyra quieted, she was not calm but for the moment satisfied that someone had witnessed the rage in her that needed to be acknowledged. Finally they spoke to her not with pity but in their voices thinly concealed anger could be heard.
“We understand your rage, our child. With so few of our Worshippers left in Westeros we could not interfere as we wished. Had we been able, we would have ensured Viserys the Kinslayer would not have sired any children with his new wife after he failed to understand our warning.”
“What warning?”
Rhenayra demanded immediately after the gods had finished their apology. They all seemed angered, not by her question but by the failure of a king who never should have been.
“We sent him a dream. A son on the throne, a dragon coiled around a high tower, the sound of swords clashing. The fool believed it to be a blessing. He never even noticed that not a single dragon dream was a promise of good fortune! Every single time a Targaryen is given a vision of the future from the us it is always a warning. We showed him a son who would bring about the end of the Targaryens. The end of your family.”
“You showed him his Aegon.” Rhaenyra whispered.
They continued, voices heavy and pity in their eyes as they finished.
“Yes. We showed him what would happen if he had a son. Never did we believe anyone from Daenys the Dreamers line would be foolish enough to misinterpret a dragon dream.”
Then their voices hardened.
“And that is why you are here. From your line comes the heir that was promised. Because of Viserys’ failure, the greed of men, and the treachery of lords, House Targaryen fell. The promised heir was driven from her home, forced to grow in exile, and betrayed by the realm she saved."
The Princess could only stand there in shock upon hearing the horrible future of her family.
“After her death,” they continued, “they called her mad. Our flames faded as many lost faith in Valaryian gods. Our power nearly died. We had only enough strength to take you at the moment of your death.”
Rhaenyra stared at them shaking.
House Targaryen, the heirs of Valyria. Destroyed by men who bowed to Andal weakness and would rather burn the realm to the ground than see a woman on the throne.
While she stewed in her renewed anger the gods leaned forward. One stood out among the fourteen.
"I am Shrykos, goddess of beginnings, endings, transitions and doorways."
As her rage simmered, one goddess stepped forward.
She was beautiful and was every age at once: babe, maiden, crone, joy and sorrow alike etched into every line of her face. Rhaenyra bowed instinctively.
“Our time grows short,” Shrykos said. “A choice remains.” Her presence itself helped Reahnyra calm herself before responding.
"What is it you are offering me?"
"A chance, that is all, to be a true heir and bring back the glory of House Targaryen. Not only for yourself but for your future descendants so they may be prepared for the song of ice and fire.”
“You will be returned with your memories of the life you have lived in tact and be given gifts to ensure the future we foresaw does not come to pass. No Dragons will Dance nor will any Princes of Hightower blood sit on the throne. What is your answer, our child?”
There was only one possible answer she could give to their request.
“Yes. When will I be sent back and what gifts will you give me?”
Rhaneyra knows that she should have been a bit more respectful but she has given a chance she has dreamed of for ages. To fix everything. Thankfully it seems the gods were inclined to forgive her impatience. Then another form came forward.
“I am Aegarax, Queen and mother of the gods. You will be sent back to your body of Two and Ten the year before your mother is killed and you are named heir.”
She could not believe it. She could save her mother.
Aegarax smiled as if hearing her thoughts, which as a goddess she could. “Yes, you may save those who perished or were killed; and you shall be unburnt. No flame will ever harm you again.”
Another god stepped forward, eyes like molten bronze.
“I am Arrax, King and father of the gods. The past will not fade for you. You will remember every betrayal, every death. Use it wisely and you must work hard in that first year, Rhaenyra. Your reputation as the realm's delight must grow to one of a capable Princess who cares for her people. You must gain allies and show all of Westeros that you are worthy even before being named heir.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“You must.” Arrax said, “Make the realm love you before they fear you.”
The gods continued speaking as one once more.
“Next your mother must not die by a maesters blade. After Viserys kills her for an heir, other lords were free to do the same. This caused many who would have helped prepare for the coming winter to not be born or be left unprepared to fight. To save her, you must reunite with the other Targaryans left in the world. Tell them of your dragon dreams.”
As they finished, two goddesses spoke as one.
“I am Meleys. And I am Onixa,” they said.
“For your next gift, you shall have allies. Those of Valyrian blood, dragonseeds, who worship us will be given dreams of warlocks, healers, and innovators. Knowledge lost in the Doom of our homeland will be restored. They will dream of you.”
As soon as the two goddesses finished, two more took their place, Caracexs and Syrax, destruction and passion entwined.
“Take the throne,” they commanded.
“With harmony or fire and blood.”
Rhaenyra placed her hand over her heart in solemn vow.
“This is more than I ever dreamed,” she said. “I will not fail.”
“Now our daughter we will prepare for your departure but for now you are not needed before us. There is another matter you must attend to”
Now she was mad again.
“You said I was chosen to fix things should I not begin now!”
All the gods' looked at her with a sense of amusement which made her slightly furious as she had agreed to forgo her deserved rest in Balerion's realm to save her family.
In her frustration she almost missed it as the Gods spoke to her with caring voices as though they could sense her change in emotion.
“Yes child of ours. You will, but there are others here who wish to see you and we will not deny them.”
The gods then raised one arm each and pointed behind her. Rhaneyra slowly turned and saw the woman who she had wished to see since she was a little girl.
“Hello my dear daughter. It is so wonderful to see you”
Her Muna