Reflections of a New Life

Dragonstone, 101 AC

Point of View: Aelor

Months had passed since I first opened my eyes to this world, and the realization that I was no longer in my original life weighed heavily on my infant mind. At first, it had been a blur of sensations—warmth, the softness of my mother's embrace, the distant roar of dragons, and the ever-present scent of salt in the air. But now, with each passing day, clarity began to seep in. I was in Westeros, in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, and I was living in a time that predated the events I vaguely remembered.

I couldn't move much, being just a few months old, but my mind was active. The knowledge from my past life was a jumbled mess, fragments of a story I had once read or watched. Faces and names swirled in my head—Ned Stark, Daenerys, the Wall, the Iron Throne. But how did I end up here? And more importantly, who was I before? These questions plagued me, even as I lay in my cradle, gazing up at the stone ceiling of Dragonstone.

My mother, Aelarys, was a stunning woman. Her silver hair flowed like molten moonlight, and her purple eyes—so uniquely Targaryen—held a mix of strength and sorrow. She would often hold me close, whispering soothing words, her voice a melody that calmed my restless thoughts.

"You're going to be great, my little dragon," she would say, her breath warm against my cheek. "Just like your grandsire, Aemon."

Her words struck a chord in me. Aemon? I knew that name. He was a Targaryen prince, a character from the history I vaguely remembered. But hearing her speak of him as my grandsire... it clicked into place. I was a Targaryen. The silver hair, the purple eyes, it all made sense. I was part of this legendary family, born into a line of dragons. The realization filled me with a mix of awe and dread. What did this mean for my future?

Jory, my father, was a stark contrast to my mother. His rugged appearance and the scent of the sea clung to him, a testament to his life as a sailor. He would often enter the room, eyes filled with a mix of pride and uncertainty as he looked at me.

"He's growing fast, Aelarys," Jory remarked one evening, his voice low and thoughtful. "Do you think he knows?"

Aelarys glanced at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Knows what, Jory?"

"Who he is. Who we are. The significance of his birth."

Their cryptic conversation left me puzzled. What was so significant about my birth? I wished I could ask them, but I was trapped in this tiny, helpless body. Instead, I cooed, reaching out a small hand towards my father. He took it gently, his calloused fingers surprisingly tender.

"He's special, Jory. I can feel it," Aelarys said, her eyes never leaving me.

In the quiet moments, when I was alone with my thoughts, I tried to piece together the timeline. The Great Council of 101 AC—yes, that had to be it. I was born on the same day they chose Viserys over Rhaenys. This was the era of King Jaehaerys I, the Conciliator. It all fit. But the memories of my past life were slipping away, like sand through my fingers. I couldn't remember my name, my family, or even what I did. All I had were these fragmented images and a sense of urgency to understand my place in this world.

Aelarys would often hum lullabies, her voice a balm to my troubled mind. I would gaze at her, marveling at her beauty. In another life, in another world, I might have simply admired her as a character from a book or a show. But here, she was my mother, a real person with hopes and fears. I felt a deep connection to her, a bond that went beyond the knowledge I had from my previous existence.

One evening, as the sun set and the room was bathed in the golden glow of twilight, my parents stood by my cradle, speaking in hushed tones.

"We need to think about his future, Jory," Aelarys said, worry creasing her brow. "With his lineage, he's bound to attract attention."

Jory nodded, his expression serious. "We'll keep him safe, Aelarys. No matter what."

Their words filled me with a sense of foreboding. I knew the dangers that lay ahead in this world—political intrigue, wars, dragons. I had seen it all play out in my fragmented memories. But now, it was real, and I was a part of it.

As I drifted off to sleep, the familiar weight of uncertainty settled over me. Who was I before all this? What was my name? These questions echoed in my mind, haunting me even in my dreams. I had knowledge of the past and the future, but my own identity was a mystery. All I could do was wait and hope that, in time, I would find the answers I sought.

For now, I was Aelor, son of Aelarys and Jory, a child of Dragonstone. And in this world, I would carve out my destiny, one way or another.

Dragonstone, 100 AC

Point of View: Aelarys

The sun's gentle rays broke through the persistent clouds over Dragonstone, their touch waking me from my slumber. A new day meant another round of work at the tavern. I lived alone now, ever since my mother passed away years ago. Her face was etched in my memories, a sorrowful reminder that accompanied me daily. Her absence was a constant ache, a presence felt in its very lack.

This week, my work had earned me a few copper stars—better than most weeks. It was enough to sustain me for now, though I often dreamt of finding a spouse, perhaps a handsome prince who would sweep me off my feet. It was a fanciful dream, but in Dragonstone, fantasies were woven into the very air. Here, everyone bore Valyrian features in some form—purple eyes, silver hair, or, in rare cases, the mark of dragonseed birth, hinting at royal blood.

Once, the royal family of Dragonstone granted us smallfolk the privilege of the first night, a chance to carry the seed of the dragons. But that tradition was abolished long ago by Queen Alysanne, before my time.

"I don't pay you to stare at customers," barked the madam of the tavern, jolting me from my thoughts. "I pay you to serve them. Now get to work."

"Sorry, madam," I replied, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the men in the tavern laughed.

"Oi, a round over here for me boys," shouted one man.

"Cut her some slack, you old hag," another man laughed. "If not for her looks, this place would be empty." Laughter erupted once more.

"After all, who'd want to see your ugly mug handing them a drink?"

"Oh, so now this mug doesn't strike your fancy?" retorted the mistress, her voice sharp. "Then take your men and piss off!" More laughter followed before the room settled back into its usual bustle.

I quickly brought drinks to a group of sailors in the corner, trying to regain my composure.

"Here you go, lads. Pardon my clumsiness," I said, attempting a sweet tone.

"My, isn't this one a looker," one of the sailors remarked, his eyes fixated on my chest.

Instinctively, I covered myself with my hands.

"How about you spend the night with me, love? Ever been with a sailor? I can show you a good time, hehehe," he leered, reaching towards me.

I clamped my eyes shut in fear.

"Knock it off, Balon. This ain't the Iron Islands," reprimanded another sailor, the leader of the group. He had a rugged build, with hair of gold and brown, and cold emerald eyes.

"If you want to relieve yourself, find a brothel and spend your own coin. I won't have you make a mess on my account. Got it?" he said firmly.

Balon pulled his hand away, annoyed. I quickly retreated, but not without glancing back at the sailor who had defended me.

His presence lingered in my thoughts as I continued my work. Perhaps Dragonstone held more than just fantasies for me.

The madam sent me to the market near the docks to procure more supplies. The salty breeze and bustling activity offered a brief respite from the confines of the tavern. As I navigated through the market, my basket slowly filling with goods, a commotion caught my attention. A crowd of smallfolk had gathered, staring in wonder.

Curious, I pushed through the throng to see what was happening. The sight that met my eyes took my breath away: Queen Alysanne had arrived on the island. She was surrounded by her royal guards, who guided her towards the castle on Dragonstone, followed closely by her servants.

Queen Alysanne, now 4 and 60 namedays, bore the marks of her age and the sorrows she had endured. Her silver-gold hair, though still thick, was streaked with white, and her eyes, the color of molten amethyst, held a deep sadness. She had lost many children, and the weight of that grief was etched into the lines of her face. She wore a gown of deep blue velvet, embroidered with intricate patterns of silver thread, and a cloak trimmed with the finest ermine. The smallfolk watched in awe, bowing their heads as she passed.

As the queen made her way towards the castle, her gaze swept over the crowd, her eyes landing on me. I felt a jolt as our eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her expression changed, a flicker of shock crossing her regal features. She recovered quickly, but her interest in me was unmistakable.

"Who is that girl?" I heard her ask one of her attendants.

The attendant followed her gaze and then approached me. "You there, girl. Her Grace wishes to speak with you."

I was stunned but managed to nod, following the attendant as he led me towards the queen. The crowd parted, whispering among themselves.

"Your Grace," the attendant said, bowing. "This is the girl you noticed."

Queen Alysanne studied me intently. I felt exposed under her scrutiny, my heart pounding in my chest.

"What is your name, child?" she asked, her voice gentle yet commanding.

"Aelarys, Your Grace," I replied, bowing deeply.

"Aelarys," she repeated, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Tell me, do you have any family here on Dragonstone?"

"My mother passed away years ago, Your Grace. I live alone now."

Queen Alysanne seemed lost in thought for a moment. "You resemble someone I once knew," she said finally. "I would like you to accompany me to the castle. There is something I wish to discuss with you."

I was bewildered but nodded again. "Of course, Your Grace."

As we walked towards the castle, the queen spoke quietly to one of her guards. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I felt their eyes on me, and I wondered what had caused such a reaction in the queen.

We entered the castle, its grand halls echoing with the sound of our footsteps. The opulence of the surroundings was overwhelming. I had never seen such grandeur up close. The queen led me to a private chamber, her expression unreadable.

"Aelarys," Queen Alysanne said softly once we were alone. Her voice was gentle, imbued with a sadness that seemed to resonate deeply within her. "You bear a striking resemblance to someone I once knew. I thought the likeness must be a trick of the light, but now, seeing you up close, I am certain. Tell me, do you know of your lineage?"

I shook my head, my mind spinning. "No, Your Grace. My mother never spoke of it. She passed when I was very young."

Queen Alysanne's eyes softened with a mix of sorrow and concern. "I see. This resemblance cannot be mere coincidence. I wish to keep this matter between us, Aelarys. Given what I have lost and the pain I have endured, I fear for your safety should this become known. Will you allow me to investigate further, discreetly, to uncover any connection between you and those I once held dear?"

"Of course, Your Grace," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. The thought that I might be linked to something so grand was almost too overwhelming to grasp.

Queen Alysanne gave me a reassuring smile, though her eyes remained shadowed with grief. "Thank you, Aelarys. You need not worry. We will seek the truth together, quietly."

As I stood there in the presence of the queen, the familiar rhythms of my life seemed to shift. The mundane days at the tavern and dreams of a better future felt distant now. What lay ahead was uncertain, my life soon changed. 

Queen Alysanne appointed me as her personal handmaiden, and a glimmer of light seemed to return to her eyes. The loss of her youngest and dearest daughter, Gael, a year prior—a tragic end to a life that had once been filled with promise—had cast a shadow over her once vibrant spirit. It was said that the Queen had been broken by Gael's death, and many wondered how she could ever find joy again.

Yet, in the midst of her grief, I noticed a transformation. The Queen's smile, which had been a rare and fleeting sight, began to reappear more often, and it was brightest when she was near me. The court murmured about this curious change, but no one could quite grasp the reason behind it.

Although I longed to understand the nature of my own birth, the Queen remained silent on the subject. My persistent questions were met with gentle avoidance, and though my curiosity burned, I respected her discretion.

As days passed, I learned of the Queen's declining health. The shadow of illness and melancholy deepened, echoing the sorrow I had known in my own life. Despite this, Queen Alysanne's smile persisted, an enduring beacon of resilience amidst the darkness.

Her presence continued to uplift, and though her condition weighed heavily upon us all, her smile remained a rare and precious gift, shining most brightly when she was in my company.

In the final days of her life, Queen Alysanne revealed the truth to me. I will always remember that moment with a clarity that will never fade.

I knelt by her bedside, clutching her frail hand, my eyes brimming with tears. Her once-vibrant purple eyes, now dimmed with age and sorrow, met mine with a gentle gaze. Despite her condition, her smile remained, a bittersweet echo of the grace she had always carried. The maester stood on the opposite side of the bed, his face etched with the quiet guilt of a man who knows that time has run out. He examined her with a somber demeanor, his head bowed as though in reverence to her suffering.

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, punctuated only by the Queen's faint but comforting voice. "Everyone leave," she commanded softly.

The courtiers and attendants obeyed swiftly, the space around us becoming eerily quiet. I, too, felt the urge to withdraw, but as I tried to release her hand, she gripped mine firmly, her frail fingers betraying a strength of will that was as steadfast as ever.

"Not you," she said, her eyes locking onto mine. "Stay by my side. Please."

"Of course, Your Majesty," I whispered, tears streaming down my face.

The minutes seemed to stretch endlessly as the room remained still, save for the Queen's labored breathing and the silent flow of my own tears.

"You," Alysanne said with great effort, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You are the natural-born daughter of my son, Aemon."

My breath caught in my throat. I was stunned, unable to fully grasp the enormity of her words. Aemon was my father?

Alysanne's grip on my hand tightened as she continued, her voice laced with the bittersweet relief of revelation. "How the Seven have blessed me these past moons. The moment I arrived on Dragonstone, they sent me a daughter to ease my sorrow. Aelarys, I wish I could have done more for you as you have done for me."

Her old eyes, glistening with unshed tears, reflected a sorrow and a gratitude that seemed almost too much to bear. I couldn't hold back my grief any longer.

"You have done more than enough for me," I cried out, my voice breaking. "You have been another mother to me, giving me the motherly love I had long forgotten. These last few moons have been the happiest of my life. Please, don't go."

"Oh, Aelarys, my beautiful Aelarys," she whispered, her fingers tenderly brushing away my tears. "Thank you."

With those final words, her breath faltered and then ceased. Queen Alysanne, the once-great queen of Westeros, passed away on the first day of the seventh moon of 100 AC, leaving behind a legacy of love and a daughter rediscovered.