The smooth weave of the silk fabric pressed against my back, not that it helped me deal with the extremely uncomfortable chair I was sitting in, despite it being covered in many soft furs, a constant reminder of the nomadic life I now led. It was a far cry from the plush comforts I was accustomed to in my old life, gods, did I miss my sofa and bed. One minute I was in my own world, in my office and planning to head to the Bund in the evening for a drink with my friends, the next I was here, in the body of Daenerys Targaryen, Khal Drogo's Khaleesi, the Dany fucking- dragon rider, in a freaking TV show ( and yes, it was the book, I checked). It had been a jarring transition, to say the least.
I often wondered what happened to the original Daenerys. Did our souls merge? Did her spirit, wounded by the knowledge she had inadvertently harmed her husband by trying to have him healed by that bitch of a witch, simply… retreat? Or was this some cruel cosmic joke, a bizarre twist of fate that landed me in this chaotic world of fire and blood? Did some random god simply decide to fuck my life for their own amusement, was this some sort of game?
Whatever the reason, here I was, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and now, apparently, unintentional time traveler and a transmigrator to boot. Not that it helped me that much, apart from some obvious helps and uses when the future knowledge proved handy. My arrival had sent ripples through the timeline, creating a cascade of "butterflies," as I called them. Irri, who should have been dead in Qarth, now stood before me, alive and well. And in her arms, she held the most significant butterfly of them all – Rhaego. The son who would have been a stillborn baby. Khal Drogo and Daenerys Targaryen's son. The son who was prophesied to be the Stallion Who Mounts the World.
My son.
"Khaleesi," Irri said, her voice soft, "it is the young prince's feeding time."
My gaze snapped to her, a wave of tenderness washing over me. Rhaego, my sweet babe, who was supposed to have been stillborn, gurgled and squirmed in Irri's arms. He was the living embodiment of the changes I had wrought on this world, a testament to my unintended influence. A consequence that I was happy to accept. Perhaps it was my own maternal instinct or perhaps it was Dany's which had somehow become mine.
"Bring him here, Irri," I said, my voice a low murmur.
As Irri approached, my mind drifted back to that fateful day. The blood magic, the chanting, the fear that clawed at my throat. And then, the silence. The crushing weight of grief that threatened to consume me. But then, a miracle. A tiny gasp, a flicker of life in those violet eyes. Rhaego lived.
"Rhaegar," I whispered, the name I had given him echoing in the tent. Rhaegar, after the noble brother I never knew, the prince who was promised. Perhaps this child, my child, would fulfill that prophecy in ways no one could have foreseen.
Irri helped me adjust the strap of my dress, it was a simple one, a low-waisted long skirt with two straps going above the shoulders and crossing at the back, freeing my breast. With a practiced ease, I settled Rhaegar in my arms, his tiny mouth seeking nourishment. He latched on my nipple with surprising strength, his suckling a comforting rhythm against my skin. He had been especially fussy these days, perhaps sensing my distress, or it may be the sudden change in air, as we found ourselves in what appeared to be a temperate zone instead of the equatorial one, that was the Slaver's Bay.
The tent was filled with my other subordinates, Barristand Selmy and Jorah Mormont both were present, to discuss our currently embarrassing situation. Something which we couldn't find the head or tail of. The old knight and the former lord of Bear Island were butting their heads when I decided to cut them off.
Ser Barristan Selmy, ever the picture of chivalry, averted his gaze. Jorah Mormont, however, was less discreet. His eyes lingered on my other exposed breast, a flicker of desire in their depths. I didn't bother to cover myself. It was a game we played, a silent understanding. Jorah's infatuation was a tool, a weakness I could exploit. A valuable chain to leash the Northern knight to my chariot.
A sudden gust of wind whipped at the tent flaps, momentarily distracting me. Daario Naharis strode in, his swaggering confidence as potent as ever. His eyes fell on my exposed chest, a smirk playing on his lips.
"We have a problem, Khaleesi," he announced, his voice rough.
I gently shifted Rhaegar, ensuring he wouldn't lose his latch. "What is it, Daario?"
"Just as we thought, we're lost," he said, running a hand through his flamboyant blue beard. "Completely lost. Your Dothraki were not speaking nonsense when they said that the stars were completely wrong, because these stars are indeed wrong. We are now in a foreign land. Those scouts I sent back towards Yunkai… they found nothing but villages and small towns. No sign of the coast, no familiar landmarks."
My brow furrowed. "What about the people in these villages? Did the scouts learn anything?"
"They brought back a few," Daario replied. "They speak some strange tongue, a bastardized version of High Valyrian, it seems. They say we're in a land called… Wallachia."
Wallachia? The name rang a bell in my head, there was a thought, but I was still too surprised to consider it. Because if it was, then it certainly wasn't anywhere near Slaver's Bay, or the world in general as it was mentioned in either the book or show.
"Where are we in this land of Wallachia?" I asked, a knot of unease forming in my stomach.
"Apparently, not far from a city called Targoviste," Daario said with a shrug. "Never heard of it myself."
Targoviste. The name struck a chord, a faint memory from a history lesson long ago. Wasn't that…
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.
This wasn't just a detour. This was a complete and utter divergence from the known world, a leap into the unknown. We were no longer in Essos. We were somewhere else entirely. Fuck… another fuck, I really couldn't think of anything else. Were the gods playing with me, tossing me like a tennis ball from one place to another. The gods must be having a grand old time at my expense.
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I had inadvertently crossed not just the boundaries of time, but of space as well, and then came back bt in past. How was this even possible?
"Daario," I said, my voice firm despite the turmoil within me, "gather the captains. We need to assess the situation."
He nodded, his smirk fading as he took in the gravity of the situation. As he left the tent, I looked down at Rhaegar, his tiny face contorted in a milky grin. He was oblivious to the chaos swirling around him, content in his mother's arms.
"Well, little man," I whispered, a wry smile touching my lips, "it seems we've embarked on a new adventure."