A/N: Timeskip and changing of faceclaim! The OC's face claim(s) are now Peri Baumeister who played Gisela (Stiorra's mother) in The Last Kingdom & Olga Kurylenko who played Etain in the 2010 movie 'Centurion.' This combination is done for the sake of a broader Viking/warrior yet still motherly appearance to reference.

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Valkyrie Keep, 298 AC in Braavos, Essos

Sixteen years after the birth of Daenerys Targaryen

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How they loved the sunrise.

She felt the first sun rays washing over her face, her eyes shut to block out the brightness. She drew deep breaths, leaning back and sighing at the warmth, a greeting for another day of work to come.

It became their habit once Viserys felt comfortable enough around Brynhildr to cry about what had happened to him. He'd been so angry the first few weeks, angry at the Valkyries, angry at Oberyn, angry at Ser Willem Darry. Brynhildr and Daenerys were the only people he wasn't mad at, if only because Brynhildr had scolded him about his anger at his sister and because he knew that at least Brynhildr could relate to wanting to avenge one's parents.

Even so, a sparring sword wasn't enough to abate him. He grew upset when the Valkyries tried to comfort him, so Brynhildr made a rule that no one was to treat the boy with kindness if he did not earn it. Brynhildr handled teaching him, feeding him, and keeping him occupied during the day until at last, he grew so fed up with his new life that he burst into tears one evening and refused to stop crying.

She'd put him on her shoulders and swaddled Daenerys to her chest, hoisting herself up to the roof and sitting with the two of them while the sun rose. Perhaps it was the strangeness of this event, perhaps it was the beauty of a sunrise. Viserys went quiet and turned around to hug Brynhildr, calm enough to try to sleep. Unfortunately for Brynhildr, she hadn't slept a wink that night. But afterwards, Viserys stopped lashing out.

As the children grew, the roof was their place to reflect. A place where all feelings could be had, or none at all. It was private and looked over the whole of Braavos, glittering beneath a golden sun reaching for the sky. The roof provided them the safety to talk about anything with only Brynhildr able to listen. She surmised that was why Viserys kept on liking it; he didn't feel like he was being observed during the hours they were up there.

"I had another dream."

Brynhildr's eyes opened. She turned to Daenerys, always so pensive whenever they sat up here at the beginning of each week, just the three of them, to thank the gods and ask for more guidance. "Another dream," repeated Brynhildr. "Of what, little seiðkonur?"

Daenerys hummed. "I remember when I was little, you told me the story of how your grandfather, Sigurd, killed the dragon Fafnir. I dreamt of dragons. I dreamt I held one in my hand, that it nestled against my chest and fell asleep."

Viserys glanced at Brynhildr, lips pursed. "Well, Mineri did tell you yesterday that Uncle Oberyn is trying to acquire dragon eggs for us. It must have gotten to your head."

"Or it could be one of the meaningful ones," said Brynhildr. "One of the prophecies. Your sister, like my mother, is a völva. Seiðkonur, capable of casting prophecies. Both of you have magic in your veins, but only she is a seer. Her dreams are different from yours and mine, Young Dragon. My father, he was a dreamer, too, but he could not see the future the way my mother did. Perhaps it means something."

"Yes," agreed Daenerys. "I think it means our magic would work on the eggs, Mother. I don't know how I know, but... it felt so real. Different from other dreams. This one will come true."

Brynhildr's eyes narrowed at the rising sun. "Then it is a good omen from our gods. It means our time is nearing. As your ancestor, Aegon, saw a land ripe for the capture... so, too, will we turn westward and see Westeros needing to be cleansed with Fire and Blood."

She'd learned a long time ago not to ignore Daenerys when she said she had a dream. She'd dreamt many things before that ended up coming true. A sandstorm that killed the Ragged Standard. A sickness that swept through Braavos and felled some within their house. It pulled Brynhildr back to old habits of herbal remedies, of potions. It told her that magic was never too far from their grasp.

The Valkyries now numbered well over a fifteen-hundred. Their house had undergone all sorts of repairs, new floors added above and below the original layout. They'd bought a secondary property to house those who built only ships by the docks and a tertiary property to house only those that worked in their forge crafting weapons. Viserys and Daenerys had been happy to get their own rooms with a view into their gardens.

Brynhildr protected the company more fiercely than before. Anytime a mission was to happen, she'd gather those who intended to go and together they'd enter the outskirts of Braavos, on the path to Qohor. With goats or lambs, Brynhildr would guide them in a ritual of good fortune. She'd splash their faces with blood as her Einherjar chanted for galdr, as her few chosen priestesses joined her in the seiðr to ask the gods for a safe voyage and a complete job. The children had grown up watching her believe the magic that ran in their veins was true. They'd seen unbelievable things happen with it.

A long time ago, she'd hired a tutor to teach them High Valyrian and tell them about their culture. She'd assigned guards and teachers that would teach them to fight and teach them about politics, economy– how to be rulers in a place like Westeros. Viserys and his sword had soon become unmatched under her instruction. Daenerys did not take as kindly to weapons, but learned to throw knives from Kahmid, her aim deadly enough that no one would dare try to bother her.

The work on their fleet had tripled. They sold ships as fast as they made them, they buffed up their numbers planning for the invasion they'd launch as soon as Viserys and Daenerys were ready. The Valkyries loved the children, sweet Daenerys who would listen to their stories, and fierce Viserys who would ask each woman to teach him something that would let him truly be a dragon.

They were her life. Her reason for everything. She needed nothing more from life than to see them happy, to see them capable of protecting themselves. If the only love she had in that life was the love of a mother for her children, and received in return the love of children, then she felt complete.

"Mother!" said Daenerys happily, pointing down the slope of the roof at a group or horses riding up. "There he is– Uncle Oberyn is back!"

"So he is," noticed Brynhildr with a smile. "Come on, let's go and greet him." She began to wiggle off the roof beside him, back to their balcony. "And Dany, don't tease him about being your favorite uncle like you did with Daario. Daario will be humble but Oberyn will tell the whole world."

Viserys smirked. "Oberyn and Daario may fight for this title. I don't have a favorite for that reason. Not between them, at least."

Brynhildr raised a brow. "And who, exactly, is your favorite, then?"

"We have other uncles. Your brothers, the ones from all the stories. My favorite is Ivar. I wish I could meet him one day."

She wondered what had happened in Kattegat. What her brothers were doing now. If she was thirty-eight now, then Ivar was thirty-nine, Hvitserk was forty-two, Ubbe was forty-four, and Bjorn was fifty-eight. Sigurd would have been forty-one. She wondered what Floki went on to find once he left England. She wondered if he'd already joined Helga and Ragnar in Valhalla or if he was still searching for something the gods wanted him to find.

She even thought about her first crush, the young Prince Aethelred. If he was alive, he would be thirty-eight, too. Had he become King? What befell Aethelwulf if that was the case? And even that wretched King Harald Finehair, the man who killed his own brother in the battle for Kattegat. Where was he, now? Did he ever become King of all Norway? Had he tried to become King of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden?

Sometimes, alone at night, Brynhildr would imagine what would have happened if Viserys and Daenerys were brought to her at Kattegat instead. If, at the age of twenty-two, she'd become a mother suddenly to a boy of six and a girl just a few days old.

She wondered how her family would have felt, seeing her with the two of them. Ragnar would have liked Viserys and Aslaug would have probably paid Daenerys more attention than even Ivar. Bjorn and Ubbe would have taught Viserys to fight the way they taught Brynhildr. Hvitserk would have been the uncle to tease the two of them. Sigurd and Ivar might've still been too busy arguing with each other, or perhaps, Sigurd would have given the two of them good advice while Ivar told them the truths of the world and talked to them about being Viking.

They were more Viking than Valyrian, surely. Though Brynhildr had made sure they did not lose an attachment to their culture, they still knew about her gods, they still knew about her story, they still fought like her and when they prayed to all their gods, sometimes, they invoked Odin specifically. It made her proud, probably about as proud as Floki and Helga were of her and Ivar when they stuck to their gods instead of becoming Christians like their father.

How the gods had thought her fit for this, sometimes, she still didn't know. She'd yet to do anything monumental to help Viserys and Daenerys, aside from turning them into fighters. Into a leader and a proper seer.

Still, she admitted, she was not a bad mother. Not once had they complained that she did something wrong or that she hadn't supported them enough. Viserys and Daenerys both felt comfortable asking her any question. If they felt upset, they knew they could trust her to comfort him. If they were happy, she was the first person they wanted to celebrate with. Surely that meant something.

"Uncle!" cried Daenerys, rushing up to Oberyn once they'd made it to the entrance hall. She ran to him, squealing as he hugged her tight and spun her around.

"By all the gods, what does your mother feed you?" marveled Oberyn when he measured her to his shoulder, showing she'd grown from the last time he saw her. "And Viserys, you're taller than Brynhildr."

Viserys smirked, flicking the top of Brynhildr's head. "Not a difficult thing to do."

Brynhildr narrowed her eyes in complaint. "I'm six bloody feet tall. Taller than your uncle by an inch."

"I only jest, Mineri," said Viserys, reaching out to hug Oberyn. "Well, come in, you've got to be starving."

"Starving, yes," said Oberyn, wiggling his eyebrows at Brynhildr. "But not for food."

Daenerys scrunched up her nose, but giggled. "I'll be sure to leave your bedroom far from my nightly walk today."

"He only teases," said Brynhildr, cupping Oberyn's chin as he kissed her. "The one you need to worry about–" She pointed an accusing finger at Viserys. "I meant what I said yesterday, I do not want you going out to the brothels. Bring your girls here, don't leave these walls after dark."

"She's right," agreed Oberyn. "You're a man now, and you can enjoy yourself. But you are also a King whose head is still wanted by Robert Baratheon. Any one of those girls could be paid assassins. At least here, you'll be surrounded by Valkyries who will swoop in to defend you at the first sign of danger. Brynhildr is perceptive, she will know someone is up to something the moment they cross the threshold."

Viserys made a face, annoyed, but one pointed look from Brynhildr and he sighed, able to understand at the age of twenty-two that this was for his own good. "Alright."

Often, Brynhildr wondered about what might've happened with other children involved. Prince Doran had asked Oberyn not take himself and his daughters permanently to Braavos, and so, she hadn't gotten to help raise Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, or Sarella. Oberyn and Daario still came to see her often, staying for weeks at a time– sometimes the two of them were there at the same time, sometimes they were staggered.

It had been awkward at first to have them get used to each other. Oberyn had been mourning only a couple of weeks when Daario returned and Brynhildr began to spend time with him. When Daario had left, Oberyn had come to her wishing for comfort. He'd told her he needed her support and asked if she could help him learn to be himself again.

She felt she loved the two of them. Being worshiped by one and needed by another– and eventually worshiped and needed by both– had filled her heart and given her an understanding of how to fill hearts in return. Oberyn had confided in her and she'd helped him process his anger until at last, he started to feel some control over his life. He started following a schedule, he ate regularly, and at last, he kissed Brynhildr and asked her make love with him.

The next time Daario had come, they'd both been wanting to spend time with her. They'd adhered to set nights, then tried all at once. Oberyn liked both men and women, Brynhildr could be both submissive and dominant, while Daario just wanted to have fun and would do whatever they both wanted. It was then that they found their rhythm, and so, she had something else to fill the void even as she gave all her energy to the children who needed her.

She'd almost given them siblings. Her first miscarriage had happened when Daenerys was half a year old. That child was surely Daario's, given how much pain Oberyn had been in. Brynhildr gave birth to a stillborn boy she named Sigurd, for her dear brother. She'd hidden it from Viserys and Oberyn, only her most trusted Valkyries tending to her as she recovered from the birth.

The second stillborn was a girl from Oberyn, after Daenerys had turned two. Brynhildr had gotten further in her term, and would have named her Elia for his sister. That time, she'd been in pain for weeks, and had cried so much that Viserys found out even if she hadn't meant him to. She supposed it was then that he understood how complicated childbirth was. Never again after that did she find him blaming Daenerys for his mother's death. He'd hugged Brynhildr and cried that he didn't want her to lose her life because the gods would not let her keep a child.

It was possible it got to her head. There were three more miscarriages after that: Helga, Hvitserk, and Ragnar. Her last one had happened when Daenerys was ten. Now more than ever she wanted her mother's guidance, particularly where pregnancies were concerned. Aslaug had successfully given Ragnar five children with only one painful pregnancy. Brynhildr recalled that Lagertha had miscarried twice– both very painfully. Had Brynhildr been cursed because she'd killed Lagertha? Did it mean that she'd lose five babes– the same number her mother managed to have– in retaliation?

It was as if the gods cursed her for wanting to indulge too much, or for wanting to focus on children other than her chosen. Oberyn and Daario both tried to comfort her; perhaps the gods worried for her health with so much to handle– live children and the Valkyries on top of this; both Daario and Oberyn were absent enough that she didn't have constant support in any of it. Five babes she'd lost, five of which would have been too much to handle if they'd gotten to live. It had taken time for Brynhildr to even remotely believe this.

The three of them alone could repopulate the world if given the chance– she still had four more names planned if they ever managed to have another babe. Alfhild, for Ragnar's mother. Siggy, for the woman who'd helped raise her. Angrboda, for her old friend. And of course, Floki, for her surrogate father. She wondered if her ability to carry children would change once she had Viserys and Daenerys on the Iron Throne. She worried that by then, she'd be too old to have children of her own. She hated that she unlocked this desire of children only to find out her body could not sustain a pregnancy.

Only Viserys knew the full extent of this suffering. Some miscarriages, he witnessed himself. Others, he found out about later on when he saw her sitting out a fight. Sometimes, it merited a conversation. Other times, Brynhildr preferred not to talk about. Her sweet boy would not mind it either way. He'd sit beside her and hold her hand as she rubbed her belly, wondering what was wrong with her.

At any rate, Oberyn and Daario never stopped being people who loved her and who she could love. The children adored them, too. Their Uncle Daario brought them gifts from all over Essos each time he came to visit. Their Uncle Oberyn would bring them books and clothes from Westeros so that they might feel they weren't so far away from their homeland.

Sometimes, it made Brynhildr feel further from hers. But she knew that now, this was her home. Viserys was grown, the same age she was when she became a mother. Daenerys was sixteen and much more mature than Brynhildr had been at that age, roaming around England with her father and believing she knew everything about the world even when that wasn't true. Wherever these children were, Brynhildr knew she was home.

"Daario will return later," said Brynhildr, pulling Oberyn into her chambers once Viserys and Daenerys had tired of asking him about his past months in Dorne. "But I cannot hold back my curiosity until then— the dragon eggs, did you get them? Are they real?"

"Yes," said Oberyn, beckoning one of his servants to bring in a large chest. "I stopped in Pentos and acquired them. I told you, yes, that the Master of Whisperers was supporting our cause?" When she nodded, he continued, "Well, a friend of his, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, knew who to speak to in order to acquire these."

She raised her eyebrows as the heavy oak chest thumped on the ground. "You didn't tell the children, I assumed..."

"I didn't want to excite them until there is something sure to be excited about," said Oberyn. Once the servants left, he popped open the lid. Nestled within, on a dark velvet cushion, were three large eggs, dusty and with hardened pieces of rock caked between the outer scales. One was deep green with burnished bronze flecks, another pale cream streaked with gold and bronze, and the last was black with scarlet ripples and swirls.

Brynhildr knelt, placing the green one over her lap. "It's heavy. Do you really think the dragons can be reborn? Dany had a dream."

"I think so," said Oberyn as she tucked it back into the chest and closed it. "But they will need your help. This will require magic. Have you been teaching them?"

"Yes. I've had their instructor show me Valyrian runes– some are similar to Viking runes. I think with song and spellwork, we can hatch them. Many of the Valkyries have become well-versed in incantations, especially since I began the goat sacrifices for our missions. I imagine the greatest sacrifice of all will be needed to appease the Viking and Valyrian gods. We'll need bodies. And they cannot be just any bodies– bodies that are precious to us. We will need some of our Valkyries or Einherjar to give their lives for this."

Oberyn tilted his head. "Do you believe they would do it?"

She stood, nodding confidently. "In a heartbeat. This company has evolved much. They believe in Viserys and Daenerys as rulers, they see their growth and trust they will be good for Westeros. The Valkyries have always been open to different appreciations. I know a handful who would kill themselves right now if I asked it of them, if I said it was to help Viserys and Daenerys live. And, well, the majority of them would put knives in their hearts to please me."

He reached a hand out, cupping her face. "My beautiful Princess. How I've missed you. I am glad Daario has come to keep you company." He ran his thumb along her cheek. "Have you come to be with child again?"

"No," she said sadly. "I don't think the gods want me to. I've not become pregnant again since Ragnar... at least that I know of. Some miscarriages happen so early, they are confused with bleeds." She placed her hand over Oberyn's as he caressed her stomach. "I don't think you and I will have children of our own, nor do I think Daario and I will manage it. Perhaps it is what the gods want for us."

She toyed with his fingers, drawing his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Let us not think of it. We've much to think about. An invasion to plan, once these dragons are old enough. What news do you bring of Westeros?"

"Not much of excitement there," said Oberyn. "The King's hand died suddenly, and I am not sure yet if it was an assassination or truly sickness. At any rate, there is no opening to invade. Not until we have dragons– and dragons large enough to burn hosts of men."

"Yes." She gestured with her head to her table, a map of Westeros with wooden pieces over it. "I've lectured Viserys on the terrain of each land, as you asked me to. Most of these places can be overwhelmed from the sky. The Eyrie and Casterly Rock, they claim impregnable. But they can burn, as Aegon showed with Harrenhal. With this Master of Whisperers helping us, we can learn what liege lords will budge with the talk of an alliance."

Oberyn kissed her jaw. "And what of your mission... the one I paid for?"

Brynhildr began to smirk mischievously. "Done. Fortunate for us that Balon sent him away for raping Victarion's salt wife. I did Victarion a favor– he does not need to be a kinslayer yet still his brother is dead. My girls found him, killed his men, brought him and his ships back to me. He refused to submit to me, kept making all sorts of nasty comments. So, I cut his cock off. I took his ships for myself, reworked them and placed on them the banner of the Valkyries. Once Euron was healed, I had Viserys wet his sword and cut off his head. Our company does not tolerate rape. Everyone who comes near us know that if we hear of a raper... the punishment is death."

"Good. I take it you celebrated afterwards?"

"Of course. Daario and I did not sleep that night." She tugged at his belt. "I don't think I want to sleep tonight, either. I say we have a day filled with sex, and not stop until tomorrow morning."

Oberyn hummed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," said Brynhildr. "Go on, bathe while I go and see if Daario is back from the morning market."

She went downstairs to find Daario already hauling in a crate of treats– treats specifically chosen for Daenerys and Viserys from Selhorys. Silently, she leaned in the doorway to watch him drag it into the kitchen, then emerge with a grin when he noticed she'd been observing the whole time.

He put an arm around her and kissed her cheek, following her up to her room. Oberyn was submerged in the tub, scrubbing himself, though he turned to look at them as Daario shut the door and started to peel off his clothes, Brynhildr drawing her curtains shut to preserve some darkness even as the sun continued to rise.

Daario came up behind her first, pulling her clothes off. Oberyn was drying himself off, arriving once Brynhildr was unclothed to join Daario in kissing her all over. "I've a good feeling about today," said Oberyn, caressing Daario's side though he kissed Brynhildr's collarbones. "I think the gods are happy with all of us."

"Are they?" teased Brynhildr. "Then surely they will have you both make me even happier."

"Certainly," agreed Daario. "Why don't you give Oberyn a proper greeting while I tell you good morning?"

Both men laid themselves on the bed. Brynhildr sat herself on Daario's face as she leaned over and kissed Oberyn's stomach, hands working to warm him up before she began using her mouth. Oberyn's hands tangled in her hair, breath hitching as he bucked his hips into her mouth. Brynhildr couldn't imagine a better welcome back into Braavos for him.

They'd shifted around after that. She rode Daario while Oberyn watched, ever so often leaning onto Daario and kissing him sweetly. As Daario recovered, she was bent over the edge of the bed by Oberyn, whose stamina had always been more than either of them could keep up with.

She stared up at her ceiling once they'd fallen asleep beside her, each holding onto her in some form. Daario's legs were tangled with hers as he rested his head on her shoulder and Oberyn's arm was around the two of them, head nestled over Brynhildr's chest. It didn't worry her that they might soon be uprooted, that they would find their comfort tried and tested if these dragons were truly capable of being born.

Brynhildr placed a hand on her own belly, wondering if their magic would work. If the dragons could be born, if Viserys and Daenerys could take their place on the Iron Throne and no longer need her, could the gods find it in themselves to leave her to be free? Free to have a healthy child, to come back to Braavos and have her two lovers at her side forever?

Or would they call her back to Valhalla as soon as her purpose was served, without room to want anything on her own terms?

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A/N: I was thinking of what sort of mom Brynhildr would be, I thought of those lines at the ends of Mockingbird by Eminem: 'And if you ask me to, Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird / I'ma give you the world / I'ma buy a diamond ring for you, I'ma sing for you / I'll do anything for you to see you smile / And if that mockingbird don't sing and that ring don't shine / I'ma break that birdie's neck / I'll go back to the jeweler who sold it to ya / And make him eat every carat...' And idk it just makes sense. She knows what it's like to not have good parents so she'd never leave them wanting for anything in the world, especially emotional, but she will still beat the ass of anyone who even slightly offends the kids. Anyway, hope you liked this chapter! Comment for more :)