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There were a lot of things you didn’t understand at such a young age. For one thing, politics; you didn’t have a single grasp on it and you never really bothered to try to. You didn’t understand why your father was so insistent that you marry your brother Rhaegar. Above all things though, you couldn’t even begin to understand the meaning of war. All you knew is that through thick and thin you wanted to stay by Rhaegar’s side. Maybe if you had been older, Rhaegar would’ve been more inclined to let you. But the truth of the matter was that you were still a child. Ten compared to his twenty-four years. Your father had always chastised you that you had been born too late, as if you had any control of when you were conceived. If you had been older you would’ve already been married to Rhaegar. Your older brother had told you that who knows if that would’ve been enough to stop the events that had unfolded. You knew that he was in love with the Stark girl, Lyanna. Many say that he had kidnapped and raped her. Neither of which were in your brother’s nature.
So you stood by him. Even when all others tried to hide you away, in your stubbornness that only children seemed to possess, you held onto his hand. You would fight off any enemy with him.
Rhaegar wouldn’t have it though.
“I’m not leaving you Rhaegar!” Haughtily you stomp your feet which must have been adorable in Rhaegar’s eyes as he couldn’t hide the gentle smile that crept onto his face.
“You truly are a little spitfire of a dragon.” He chuckles and kneels down so that he’s eye level with you. “I admire that you want to be by my side, but you’re still a child (y/n). I can’t risk your life.”
“But you’re risking your life!” You insist.
Seriousness shrouds his handsome features as he cups your face with his hands. Hands that didn’t used to be so callused. Those hands were meant to play the harp, not wielding a sword. “Yes I am. You’ll understand when you’re older (y/n). You won’t have the chance to grow older though if you stay with me.”
Tears welled up in your eyes. Why did it sound like he was saying goodbye?
Ever so gently, like he always treated you, Rhaegar kisses your forehead before each one of your eyes. “Keep that fire in you. Gods knows it will help you.”
For the last time, Rhaegar kissed your tiny lips. There had never been any romantic intention in those kisses yet they had always been full of love. Because Rhaegar did love you. You were precious to him from the moment you had been born. Not because he was supposed to marry you, but because you were his sister. His beloved sister. Something so tiny and fragile that he thought he needed to protect. As you grew though you had proven that you could protect yourself. You were hot tempered but not to a fault. You stood up for yourself and anyone who needed it.
When he pulled away you noticed the red in his eyes as he gazed upon you before motioning for your septa who had been quietly waiting in the corner of the tent.
“Take her somewhere safe. Not the Keep. Not Dragonstone. Far away. When I win I’ll come retrieve her.” Rhaegar’s hand is smoothing out your silver curls.
Your septa seemed a bit hesitant. “You will win, won’t you?”
There’s a sad smile as he betrays his own worry. Your septa understands it as she becomes more solemn. “Princess (y/n), let’s go.”
That’s when you start sobbing. You understood that sad smile too.
That would very well be the last time you saw your brother Rhaegar.
** YEARS LATER **
“They’re alive?” Breathing shallowly you tear off your septa headdress to reveal short silver tufts of hair.
Since the day you left Rhaegar’s side your septa, Septa Rila, had followed your brother’s orders and taken you far away. She had used ink to dye your hair despite you having tried to fight her about the whole thing. You didn’t want to disguise your Targaryen hair and traits. You were a dragon. Rila told you that dragons had a tendency of getting themselves killed. When the two of you had finally made it to her old Sept the both of you were weak and weary from travel and you having had several bad tantrums. In the beginning life at the Sept had been hard. Your fiery attitude conflicted greatly with the teachings that the septas tried to instill on you. Even if they wanted to, your septa refused to let them beat the teachings into you. After the two of you had a long heart to heart you finally relented and conformed yourself into the sept. Each day though you waited for news of your brother. Not even a month after of being at the sept the news came of Rhaegar’s death. Of his defeat. You thought the tears would never end. You wanted to die alongside him. To make things worse was when you heard the death of your mother. You hadn’t seen her in so long, having wanted to be with her when she gave birth but your heart called to Rhaegar’s side. You regretted not being with her, not being there for your younger siblings.
Septa Rila purses her lips slightly, her eyes darting from your silver hair to the septa headdress. After those first few weeks when you were younger of dying your hair you refused to do it again. You wouldn’t alter your Targaryen hair ever again. Instead you cut it short and hid it fairly well. Your eyes however. . . There was nothing to be done about your eye color.
“Well, Daenerys, your sister, is. Viserys. . . He was killed by the Khal of the Dothraki.”
“Dothraki?” Scrunching your face up you have to carefully take a seat on your bed. Everything seemed to be coming at you fairly quickly. Of course there had been rumors of your younger sibling’s escape and of their whereabouts. Robert Baratheon had eyes everywhere looking for any surviving Targaryens. Which was why you had decided to stay at the sept. You’d be good as dead if the wrong people ever found out who your parents were.
You couldn’t really trust gossip though. Silently you hoped that they were true. That they were alive.
Wringing your hands together anxiously you bite down on your lip. “She’s alive. . .”
Rila nods. The years hadn’t been too kind to her regarding her complexion. There were bags under her eyes from late nights of constant worry and wrinkles that somehow still made her face look soft and gentle. She had taken care of you and for that you will always be grateful to her. But now that you knew for certain that at least one of your siblings were alive, you had to go find her. You’d have to leave the sept.
“You know what I have to do.” You whisper.
“You don’t have to. It’s dangerous out there for you (y/n). I hear Robert Baratheon has hired men to kill her. If you go then people will know of your existence. They’ll kill you too.” She pleads with you, pulling on your sleeve. “Your brother told me to keep you safe.”
Taking her hands you bring them up to your lips. “And you have. You’ve done an outstanding job. But Daenerys. . . She’s the only blood I have left. She needs me.”
There was evident fear on the aging septa’s face as she clung to your hands with her head bowed. “Gods keep you safe (y/n).”
You wouldn’t tell her that you didn’t much believe in gods. Not after what they did to your family. You kept hold of your tongue and kissed the crown of her bent head. When Septa Rila straightens up to reveal tears in her eyes you move away from her to a certain area in your small room and get to your knees. With the help of your nails you unlodge a loose floorboard and lift it up. There in a small nook was a canvas pouch. It didn’t look extraoirdinary, far from it. The simplest looking sheet of cloth that there ever was. But inside was the real treasure. Inside you pulled out a necklace with the Targaryen crest that you hadn’t worn in such a long time. You used to be able to see the three headed dragons everywhere; they seemed to be erased from all of Westeros. You slip it around your neck, letting the dragon nestle itself on your chest. The last thing in the pouch, well, it meant more to you than anything else. Heart leaping when you lay eyes on the dagger that Rhaegar had given you. Teary eyed as you balanced it on your palms you admire the beauty of such a dangerous weapon. The handle was a garnet red, embellished with the very rubies that had been on Rhaegar’s armor. He had taken a few off just to put them on your dagger. The handle itself was fashioned to look like three serpentine dragons wrapped around each other and joining together at the pommel. The blade was what really tied together the entire thing. The blade was made of Valyrian steel. Such a fine piece of metal that you had heard of people killing each other over it. It was hardly forged nowadays.
“I’m on my way Daenerys. Your big sister is on her way.”
~
Through waves that caused you to empty out your stomach you finally caught word of a definitive area where your younger sister was. She was making quite a name for herself in Slaver’s Bay. With three dragons. You grew more fervent to find her. You had seen the aftermath of her visit to Astapor; many having directed you to the path of Yunkai. All the while you still kept you septa’s headdress on. It was safer this way until you actually found Daenerys.
The journey to Yunkai wasn’t quite as difficult as you had thought it to be. There were signs still evident on the ground that a massive army had just made it’s way through. There wasn’t much to admire in regards of landscape. Most of the journey involved mountains surrounding a dry desert. What you did love was the wide open sky. When the sun didn’t prove to be a bother you’d send your gaze up to the overstretched blue. It was so much different than the ocean blue. Much more calmer and serene. At night it turned into a dark blanket filled with glittering jewels. It had been so long since you enjoyed the simplicity of open skies. They had lost their beauty once Rhaegar died. The sky was filled with bittersweet memories of the two of you. How he would hold you in his arms when you were small and point up at the stars. He’d tell you the most magnificent stories. You were never cold when you were with Rhaegar.
Maybe you’d be able to offer the same warmth to Daenerys.
Finally you came across the outskirts of Yunkai weak and weary but the sight of hundreds of Unsullied soldiers loitering about. When one caught sight of you the others fell into line and came upon you. You stood your ground. A dragon never flinched.
In fluent Valyrian you told them “I demand to see Daenerys Targaryen.”
They stood silent, their spears aimed at you. You didn’t blink as you pulled off your head cover, revealing your silver hair that had since grown to your shoulders. Neither of them were stupid. All of them escorted you further into camp until you came across a litter of tents.
It had been so long since you saw someone with your hair and eye color. So long since you saw family.
Daenerys seemed even more shocked as her lilac eyes grew rather large. The men around her mirrored her face as you entered the tent. What caught your attention were the three dragons that surrounded your sister. Staring at you as well. So it was true. Your sister was indeed the Mother of Dragons as you had heard all around Astapor.
You take one step, then two until you were inches away from where Daenerys sat. “It’s so good to see you, sister.”
Her mouth parts, gaping slightly. “You. . .”
Smiling gently you nod. “I don’t know if our brother Viserys was kind enough to tell you about me-”
“(y/n).” She breathes and stands abruptly making her dragons scatter. “I-I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I.” You felt like you couldn’t breathe despite the feeling of your chest rise and fall. Everyone else could only stare and watch at what was happening. No one could believe what was going on.
“Viserys said you were dead.” Daenerys’ brows furrow in utter confusion. “He said you were the ruin of our family because you weren’t born sooner. Not that I believed the last part. . .”
“Oh how nice of him to think so.” You roll your eyes and smile when you hear a soft laugh come out of her. “Rhaegar made me get out of danger before anything could happen. I’ve been living at a sept ever since. . .”
Gingerly her hand goes up to your face with a bit of uncertainty and you try to stop yourself from flinching as Daenerys goes to brush at your silver hair. Her smile widens. “I thought I was the last one. . . I thought. . .”
There’s a screech that came from one of her dragons. One that possessed green scales. It flew at you making you stumble back and fall into the dirt.
“Rhaegal!” Daenerys says and goes to your side when the sizeable dragon plops onto your chest.
You stare into it’s bright, orange eyes that look at you with such intelligence. “Rhaegal?”
It tilted it’s head in response before going to nudge your chin with it’s nose.
At his mother’s insistence, Rheagal backs off of you and goes back to join his brothers. Holding out a hand to you, Daenerys helps you back up.
“He likes you.” She admits with a bit of bewilderment.
“I suppose it’s because I am a Targaryen.” You shrug and finally observe the others that are present in the tent. No faces that you knew but Daenerys, seeing your mistrust is quick to introduce you to the people who have helped and protected her. The man named Jorah Mormont was the one to speak first.
“I must say, I am surprised that you’re alive. Everyone thought you dead. If I may ask, where have you been all these years?”
“I too am curious of that. Viserys didn’t tell me much of you but even he presumed you dead.” Daenerys smiles, her eyes glittering with curiosity; much like Rhaegar’s used to. She had you sit next to her as you told your story. It wasn’t as exciting as the one she told you. You grieved that you weren’t there alongside her to take care of her and Viserys.
What’s done was done though and you couldn’t go back in time.
Not too long after you and your sister catch up you notice that Daenerys is finally comfortable enough with you to place her hand on top of your’s. She looks down at her scaled children, trying to hide her tears from you. “I’m so happy you’re here. It’s been. . . It’s been tough without family. There have been times when I doubted that I could take back Westeros all on my own.”
Rhaegal was even more comfortable with you as he flew around you, once in a while trying to perch on your lap rather ungracefully. “Why do you want to take back Westeros?”
“Because it’s our birthright.” Daenerys says as if it was the most simple answer. “It was taken from us. The Iron Throne is rightfully our’s. Well. . . I suppose it’s your’s.”
You’d had a lot of time at the sept to think about your family and the atrocities that they had done. Of course you wanted to see Robert Baratheon sliced to bits for starting this ridiculous war that cost your brother his life. But ruling it though? Your father had left a terrible smear on the Targaryen name. Now anyone who heard that name would forever attach it with the Mad King. It may have been your birthright, but it didn’t mean that you should rule.
Then you realized the folly of men.
It was men that had failed on your family name.
“No. You’re right. Our’s.” You turn to your sister with conviction. Even now Robert Baratheon was ruining Westeros. “We’ll be better than our father. Better than any king. The Targaryen men have failed us. The women will not do such a thing. When people hear of Targaryen they will no longer think of the Mad King. They’ll think of us. The last dragons.”
That seemed to strike Rhaegal as he stands on his legs and lets out a scream that made you jump a little. There was no malice in it though. It sounded like he was agreeing with you.
Daenerys smiles down at him. “Yes. The last dragons. Who would’ve thought they would be women.”
The one she had called Drogon goes to her side while Viserion situates himself between you and your sister.
The Targaryen women would bring back the three headed dragon sigil.
With fire and blood.