Work Text:
She awakens with the feeling that she has slept for a very long time and with a strange ache in her stomach.
Before she can do more than blink, gentle hands reach for her, soothing her. “Careful my lady, you are not fully healed.”
She cranes her head as much as she can and sees a woman at her side. The woman is dressed in deep red and has kind eyes and she feels herself relax slightly, some unknown tension easing away.
She opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out but air and the red woman quickly gives her some water, prompting her to go slowly.
Thirst quenched she suddenly realizes she’s exhausted, eyes feeling heavier than a mountain.
“Rest.” The red woman murmurs and she feels a hand run through her short hair.
As she drifts back to sleep, she swears she hears her say “It is tiring work coming back from the dead.”
The woman she finds out much later when she can stay conscious for more than a few moments is called Kinvara.
It is only after Kinvara introduces herself that she realizes she does not know her name.
With a creeping sense of dread she realizes that she does not remember anything.
“Do you know who I am? Do you know what happened to me?” She asks after a moment and hates the tremble in her voice.
Kinvara smiles slightly, “I knew you once long ago. Near a moon’s turn a friend brought you to me in need of desperate help.”
“What happened to me?” She repeats again more firmly, sensing that Kinvara for one reason or another is dancing around the subject.
Kinvara pauses and then looks her straight in the eye. “You were dead, my lady, and the Lord of Light brought you back.”
Unbidden her hand creeps up to her stomach. Underneath her dress she thinks there must have once been a terrible wound. “I was murdered.”
“I believe so yes.”
Kinvara is reluctant to tell her more, mostly because she admits that she knows very little about what happened to her. Only that she was brought back by Kinvara at the behest of the Lord of Light.
When she asks of her memory, of her former life, if it was caused before her death, if it will ever return Kinvara grows grim. “Everything has a price my lady, I fear this may be yours.”
Kinvara refuses to tell her more of her old life, even something as simple as her name. “There are tales of men who lose themselves in battle.” She says one day, “When they push for their memories return or a kindly relative tries to fill in the spaces, the memories instead become lost forever.”
She is silent at first but then at last agrees that the idea has merit. “I suppose I’ll just have to come up with new memories.”
Kinvara calls her Gellion, silver, and in the weeks that follow she is content enough with the name.
Gellion spends most of her time in bed, sleeping or dreaming things she always forgets come morning. She’s frustrated with the lack of progress but Kinvara points out that she’s doing remarkably well for someone who wasn’t breathing only a few weeks ago.
When she’s permitted to remove her bandages she finds that there is in fact a wound on her stomach. It’s a long cut, just beginning to scar and still tender when she moves too quickly or in the wrong way.
Gellion touches it curiously and realizes that it must have been done by a knife or dagger. She wonders what kind of life her former self led to be killed in such a way.
One day when she’s particularly restless, Kinvara takes her outside for the first time. Gellion spends hours sitting in the grass, staring at the lemon tree just starting to sprout or at the deep blue color of the ocean.
She tells her that they reside on a small island off the coast of Volantis, though the name like everything else strikes little recognition in Gellion’s mind.
“Tell me of Volantis?” She requests quietly as Kinvara settles onto the soft grass beside her.
Kinvara does. She says Volantis was once her home, that she was once the High Priestess of the Lord of Light. That Volantis is similar to many of the Free Cities but special in its own independent way.
When she stops, Gellion asks her to continue, eagerly seeking more knowledge about the world outside of their little island.
Kinvara tells her of Pentos, of Meereen, of Braavos and Lys.The cities sound incredible and enchanting but Gellion feels no sense of longing, no thought of home in regards to any of them.
That night Gellion remembers her first dream—no memory. In it a small girl with silver hair is running through a house with a red door. An older man with a kindly face catches her and gently scolds her, “What have I told you about running inside?”
When she wakes she knows her name is Dany.
Dany regains her strength and spends most of her days outside, content with lying in the sun. Her nights still trouble her with forgotten terrors and sometimes when she wakes she swears she hears screaming still ringing in her ears.
Kinvara swears it is just them on the island but in the deepest parts of night Dany isn’t so sure. On those nights Dany thinks perhaps she is lucky to not remember her former life, it seems one full of pain.
A moon and a half’s turn after she was brought back to life, Kinvara deems her ready to at last meet her friend.
“ I thought you said we were the only ones here?” She says as Kinvara leads them deeper into the island than they’ve ever gone before. The thought of Kinvara lying to her makes an uncomfortable, awful gut wrenching feeling rise up in Dany.
The red woman smiles. “ I said there was no other man or woman on this island and I swear it true. Hurry now and you’ll understand.”
At last the forest abruptly fades away into a clearing and in it rests a great mound of black as if someone has taken a piece of night sky and chained it to the ground.
The mound shifts suddenly and Dany finds herself meeting piercing red eyes. As she stares into them she feels as if she could fall to her knees and weep.
Before she realizes it she’s barely a foot away from the creature who slowly lumbers to its feet.
“He is The Last Dragon.” Kinvara says quietly voice far far away.
The dragon lowers his massive head but Dany feels no fear as her hand reaches out and presses against the smooth scales. The dragon keens in reply, a low mournful sound that feels as if it should shake the world.
“Drogon.” She whispers and throws her arms around her child.
From the same distance away Kinvara tells her of how Drogon appeared one day with Dany’s corpse carefully held in his talons. How Drogon breathed a fire hotter and brighter than any other that allowed her to bring Dany back.
Dany cannot bring herself to speak. She spends hours sitting with him, letting him smell her and running a hand over his scales, along whatever part of him she can reach.
“Thank you.” She says at last when the sun has started to set. “Both of you.”
It’s too late to make their way home so they spend the night curled in the shadow of Drogon’s unnatural warmth. Kinvara is hesitant at first but Dany knows that Drogon won’t hurt her, that he must trust her to have brought Dany all this way.
After their reunion Drogon lives closer to their home though occasionally he flies away Dany never worries that he won’t return.
“You cannot chain a dragon, I think.” She says when Kinvara voices her concern.
As time passes, Dany suddenly finds herself falling fatigued and at first she blames it on the hot summer sun. It is only after she spends an entire night vomiting does she admit her illness to Kinvara.
The woman looks at her with reproach and then asks her what seems a thousand questions in the span of a minute before falling silent.
“What is it?” Dany prompts. She doesn’t feel like she’s dying but as she’s not quite sure how she felt the first time around she can’t exactly rule it out.
Kinvara at last gives her a small smile. “I think you are with child, my lady.”
“No.” The word comes out of her mouth before she’s even realized it. “I can’t be, I can’t have a child, I—”
She stops and frowns, the sound of her frantic denial echoing in her ears. Why is she so sure? What about the idea of a child makes her so fearful?
“You’re certain?”
“I swear it my lady, I can think of nothing else fitting your symptoms.”
Dany sighs, “I barely even know how to take care of myself. How do you take care of an infant?”
Kinvara laughs lightly, the sound tinkling like bells. “I do not think even the most cautious and studious of wives feel prepared when a babe is put in their arms for the first time.”
Kinvara reassures her that they will do all they can to prepare in the oncoming months.
Drogon presses his face curiously against her stomach and she glares at him for a moment. “You knew about this? You could have told me at least.”
He chirps in reply.
Dany takes to pregnancy with the stumbling hesitancy that has marked most of her new life. Still as time passes she quickly warms to the idea of a child. It is lonely here with just Kinvara and Drogon for company and though she loves them she can’t halt the longing she feels for more.
As she walks the island she tries out names, as they prepare dinner she imagines the sound of her child’s laugh. Late at night when no one is awake she wonders about her child’s father.
Were they married? Did he love her or had it been a product of passion only? Was he handsome? Was he a soldier who died when she did or did he yet live and mourn her?
On these nights the tender ache of the wound on her belly grows sharper, harder to ignore.
“There’s some legends that say that female dragons would hatch eggs all on their own.” Kinvara teases. “Perhaps you are the same.”
Dany shakes her head, letting a hand trace the swell of her belly. “ I am no dragon.”
Near the end of her pregnancy when Dany has grown irritable and restless, tired of being unable to see her feet, a ship barely worthy of being called a ship crashes onto their shore.
Drogon heads to the shore first, barely visible in the dark and Kinvara is already readying her cloak, the storm outside still raging harshly.
Dany goes to follow and Kinvara opens her mouth to speak and stops at her glare. “I’m pregnant, not invalid.” She says as she grabs her own cloak and a dagger just in case.
Kinvara simply sighs, “As my lady says.”
Before they can step out from the tall grass, Kinvara suddenly clutches tightly at her arm. “They are slavers.”
She looks closer, through the unrelenting rain and realizes with dread that the red woman is right. From the belly of the broken ship crawls five imposing men, all armed to the teeth and shouting in a language she cannot understand.
In between two of the men stands a group of women, all cowering and covered in iron cuffs.
“They are Tyroshi slavers, I think.” Kinvara says after a moment.
For the first time in this new life Dany feels a sense of fury so righteous that it nearly knocks her off her feet and before her mind can convince her otherwise, her heart pulls her toward.
“My lady!” Kinvara hisses as Dany steps onto the beach, barely managing to keep up with her.
The men stop, startled by the appearance of two woman out of practically thin air, one heavily pregnant.
One of the men, the leader maybe, looks her over and gives her a crude leer. “Woman, fetch your husband and have him help us get our cargo to shore before we slit your miserable throats.”
It takes her only a second to process that even with the strange dialect she can for the most part understand them.
“I have no husband.” She replies.
His eyes trail pointedly over her swollen stomach. “A whore then, I care little. Get your coward of a man down here before I rip that bastard from your belly.”
Dany steps forward. “I have no man. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with me instead.”
The closest man laughs at her and reaches out to grab her. His fingers barely manage to brush her dress before she runs her dagger across his throat.
Kinvara is suddenly at her side and on the next man before the others can break their stunned silence.
The first man manages to grab her and strikes her across the face, the force of the blow sending her stumbling to the ground. “You whores, I’ll fuck you both and then slit you open from cunt to tit for this!”
Before he can do anything, the ground stirs, sand blowing into the air as her winged shadow lands in front of her, roaring into the night.
“I don’t think you will.” She says serenely. “In fact I don’t think you’ll hurt anyone ever again.”
“Wait—” the man says as Drogon lunges forward and then he cannot say much of anything at all. Between Kinvara’s blade and Drogon’s teeth, it takes little work to be rid of the slavers.
“My lady, are you alright?” Kinvara asks as she pulls Dany to her feet, caution hands running over her stomach.
Dany smiles at her. “We’re just fine, thanks to you.”
Kinvara looks at the gore surrounding them and grimaces, “what are we to do with them?” She says at last, nodding at the still huddled group of women.
This close Dany can see that women would be a generous term for all but one of the four slaves. The rest are little more than scared children, trembling in the dark.
Dany brushes the sand off her dress and steps closer. A little girl with clever golden eyes is the first to meet her gaze. Something about her makes Dany feel tender, a bittersweet joy-agony.
“I would bend down but it’s much harder for me to get back up these days. What is your name child?”
The girl pauses and then bravely lifts her chin. “I am Ghiscli and this is my sister Miina.” She says of the slightly smaller girl behind her. “Is your shadow going to kill us too?”
The woman hisses at her to be quiet but Ghiscli refuses to look away and Dany shakes her head, smiling.
“No, my shadow will not kill you.” She says as she feels the weight of Drogon’s leg behind her, the warmth a welcome presence in the rain. “He does not harm little girls.” She is not sure if that was true in her previous life, if Drogon too was changed by her death but somehow she is sure of it now.
Kinvara crouches down. “Please little ones, let us help you. Our home is nearby and much drier than out here.”
After some prodding the girls agree and Kinvara leads them through the grass, Dany trailing behind. She looks back and sees Drogon watching her for a moment before he turns and makes quick work of the slavers. A grim sight but Dany prefers it to bodies littering her little beach.
Aside from Ghiscli and Miina, the other two girls are named Mossana, and Chairi. Ghiscli and Miina were taken from the isle of Naath whereas Chairi and Mossana were taken from a smaller island nearby.
“There were more of us but they didn’t make it.” Mossana the oldest says quietly.
“They said they were taking us to Lys.” Chairi adds.
Dany shudders, remembering Kinvara and her stories of Lys, famed for their pleasure slaves.
“You don’t have to go to Lys anymore, you’ll never have to go anywhere you don’t want to.” She declares firmly, iron in her voice.
The girls settle in as much as lost little girls can settle in anywhere that isn’t home. Kinvara’s home is easily big enough to fit all of them and she only sighs and says she’ll make sure they have enough supplies.
As her pregnancy grows near Dany is plagued by dreams of something terrible befalling the child. She dreams the baby is a boy born with wings and that when she touches him they fall to pieces, drifting into the wind like ashes.
“Do you think coming back could have done something to the babe?” She asks Kinvara one day near the end, when Drogon is sleeping in his den and the girls are out playing, running after each other around the lemon tree in a way that makes Dany think of her forgotten childhood.
Sometimes Dany dreams she has a brother with hair the same silver as hers, sometimes she dreams she has a sister with golden skin and clever eyes.
Kinvara pauses, takes in her trembling hands and shakes her head. “I think the child will be just fine my lady. It would be very cruel for the Lord of Light to bring you back to life only to have death befall your baby.”
Dany isn’t certain how but she knows very well that sometimes the Gods are just that cruel.
Still even if she can’t believe in merciful gods, she can believe in her friend.
Dany’s child is born three days later when the worst storm of the season hits the island. The weather is so bad that Drogon refuses to leave his den even as his mother screams in pain.
The girls save for Mossana are frightened, too young to understand the complexities of childbirth and though she looks pale Mossana helps Kinvara as much as she can.
She doesn’t know about her former life but in this one she’s never experienced such a pain. It’s unrelenting and at one point she fears she’ll slip slowly back into Death’s grasp even as Kinvara and Mossana assure her that she’s doing well, that it’s almost over.
As daybreaks Dany’s daughter lets out her first cry into the world, sounding more like a dragon than a baby.
The girls coo over her violet eyes but express disappointment that she’s inherited dark wild curls over Dany’s silver.
Though the sight of it gives her that same bittersweet feeling Dany thinks she’s perfect.
Naerys grows up quickly, learning to run before she walks and before she knows it three years have passed in the blink of an eye.
Ships, runaways and slavers alike, occasionally wash up on shore and they are dealt with accordingly. The island grows from a small haven to a small village of people needing a place to belong and Dany thinks one day it could even be a city as magnificent as Kinvara’s Volantis or Braavos.
One day as she and Naerys spend the morning in the comfortable shade of Drogon’s side, Ghiscli approaches, practically panting as she comes to a halt next to the great dragon.
She barely spares him a glance. “My lady, there’s some men here asking for an audience with Lady Gellion.” As the village grew Kinvara insisted that Dany not reveal her real name. It was the first time they’d ever got into a fight that lasted more than a day before Dany at last acquiesced, realizing that Kinvara was afraid.
Once again, Dany thought of her former life and wondered what had she done that three years after her death a dead woman still held so much power.
Dany stands, pats Drogon’s flank and gently puts her daughter into Ghiscli’s waiting arms. “If they haven’t heard already, then find Kinvara and Mossana please.”
Ghiscli nods fiercely and begins the trek back to the house, Naerys still slumbering peacefully in her arms.
At the shore stands a long ship, with brightly colored sales. Lingering on the dock are three men though Dany quickly deduces two as bodyguards or servants and only has eyes on the last.
He’s a tall man, dark of hair and beard and dressed in armor. At last he notices her and she can see visible shock on his face as she meets him.
“Your gra—”
She interrupts, smiling brightly. “Hello Ser, I don’t believe we’ve meet. I’m Lady Gellion.”
The man says his name is Daario Naharis and he looks like she’s just struck him with an axe to the heart.
No, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
She leads him away from the shore and onto the trail before they can gain any attention. “I’m not her.” She says when he remains silent, glancing at her with wide eyes.
Daario’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand, you have to be—you look just like—”
Dany shakes her head, running a hand through her short hair. “The woman you see when you look at me has been dead a long time, Ser.”
“Explain—please.” If not for the heartbreak in his voice Dany would refuse, but something about this man makes her feel regret. Something about him says she can trust him to keep her secret, that perhaps once he’s kept many secrets for her before.
So she tells him of Kinvara’s lord and Drogon’s Fire, of how she was brought back from the dead and the price was her memories for her life.
“Truthfully, selfishly I don’t think I want them back.” She admits in hushed voice, it’s a thought she’s never brought to life before, not even to Kinvara. “Your lady seemed to lead a difficult and lonely life.”
Daario looks at her for a moment and then looks away. “She did.”
Dany reaches for his hand and pats it gently, she wants to sooth his hurt. Whether it was caused by herself or her former life, some part of her feels like she’s wronged this man. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you happy here?” Daario asks quietly, voice near breaking. “That’s what I wanted for—for my lady but I don’t know if she ever was, not really, not with me anyway.”
Dany meets his gaze and can speak nothing but the truth. “Yes.”
She pulls him along and brings him to her home with the lemon tree in the yard. Kinvara and the girls stand outside the red door and Naerys breaks free from Miina’s grasp and runs to meet her.
“Mother!” She shouts, barreling into her knees and Dany would have no doubt fallen if not for Daario supporting her.
Naerys at almost three is a wild thing that’s more beast than girl. She spends all day running from her minders and is more content spending time with Drogon or the wild animals they keep than her lessons. Ghiscli teases her that she’ll one day be First Sword of Braavos while Chairi disagrees and says she’ll say a fleet scored by a thousand brave men and women.
Dany loves her with all her heart and knows she’d give up her menories a thousand times over if it meant she got to keep her.
Daario looks down at her and Naerys impishly meets his gaze, demanding to know who he is. At last he smiles and bends to one knee, offering his hand, “My lady, I am Daario Naharis and what is your name?”
Naerys looks at him and then deems him acceptable as she shakes his hand. “I’m Naerys.”
In the years that follow, Daario returns to their island several times, always with a new tale or gift that leaves the girls enamored. Once after a very long journey where they hear nothing from him or his men for close to two years he comes back with a solid wooden chest.
Dany refuses to speak to him at first, but Daario swears that what’s inside will make even her fury cool.
“Can I open it?” Naerys asks curiously. “Please?”
Daario laughs, “Of course my lady, it’s a gift for you and your mother after all.”
Naerys’ small hands struggle for a moment before she manages to push the chest open and even Dany can’t help but gasp as she sees what’s inside.
Resting in some cloth sits two small eggs. One is bronze like the sun whereas the other is as silver as Dany’s hair.
Naerys coos excitedly over them as Dany look at Daario absolutely stunned as she embraces him. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Kinvara has told her that up until Drogon and his brothers hatched, it’s been over a hundred years since the last dragon died.
“Then don’t. I don’t want your thanks, I’m content enough with just your happiness.”
Dany looks him in the eye and pointedly says thank you. Daario just laughs.
Perhaps Dany will be the one to hatch the eggs as her former self did with Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. Perhaps it will be Naerys or some great-great-great-great grandchild with violet eyes. Or perhaps they’ll never hatch at all and will only be an artifact of a time when dragons soared the sky and winters last years.
Perhaps a woman named Dany fell in love with Kinvara who was once the High Priestess of the Lord of Light but left suddenly in the night and never returned to her position. Or perhaps she’s courted by Daario Naharis, once famous for leading Meereen in the former queen Daenerys’ stead. Perhaps, some years from now, a man who was once unsullied comes to her island and sees a woman who was once queen and they remember a woman with clever eyes and a good heart.
Perhaps Dany grew her city into a new empire, a refugee from slavery in Essos and gained a thousand daughters who peacefully ended the slave trade in her name. Perhaps one day Naerys sailed to Westeros and crossed paths with a member of House Stark or House Lannister who wasn’t sure why but felt something familiar about her.
One thing is certain Dany never ruled an Iron Throne but found happiness and that was better than many could ever hope for.