GoT: "you're beautiful."

« You're beautiful. » Said her mother as she would brush her daughter's hair. Sunni of Nath was a beautiful albino woman, with long coily blonde hair, blue eyes, and an alabaster skin. She would look at her child, stroke the soft black cheeks of Bäahal as she would repeat those words, hoping that somehow, the young spirit would be able to see herself through her mother's eyes. The child was of exceptional beauty, strongly inherited from both lineages and while she was old enough to understand the world around her, she still didn't realize how much it took from her mother to utter those words. As Bäahal grew up, it became impossible to dismiss her Targaryen's heritage. Her eyes became a lighter shade of purple, her silver shiny hair became massive and framed her angelic little black face, and the worst of it all was that she couldn't burn. It cost her because every time she looked at her daughter, she saw the face of Aerys II, but always, she would make sure her daughter knew how much she loved her. She was her miracle, the love of her life...She was everything to Sunni and Bäahal loved the words because her mother said them. She loved being beautiful.

« You're beautiful. » Said her first master, and the next one and the last one. Bäahal hated when they would say those words because of what would always follow. She learned how lust could destroy someone, how beauty could be weaponized and used for someone else's benefit. They twisted her mother's loving words and turned the compliment into nothing but a dog whistle. They tainted it with their lust, the foam at their mouths as they were eager to defile her. She learned not to resist because it only made them more violent, more eager. She learned to escape to a better place, a world where dragons would come and burn her enemies to a crisp, a world free of evil where her mother could have lived a peaceful life. Bäahal of Naath, the Jewel of Astapor, The silver maiden...They would emphasize her unique features, sell her as the only Targaryen bastard with silver locks and purple eyes and they would laugh, they would laugh as they were taking everything from her, scarred her mind and flesh with their vile hands...She hated the words. She hated to be beautiful.

« You're beautiful. » Said the first man she killed. It was the first time she reclaimed herself. When finally that disgusting man tried to force himself on her, Bäahal rejected him. It could have remained as such if he had not tried to teach the bastard a lesson. Bäahal fought with all she had, so much so that she was scarred for the first time in her life from the knife he was holding. Her back, once unmarred, was carrying the memories of that fateful night. She remembered the warmth of his blood, as it sprayed her face and soaked her hands. She remembered his muffled groans as she stabbed him repeatedly with a kitchen knife that was laying on the floor. She remembered his grotesque figure contorting itself in the last spasm of his pitiful life before he finally died on her. Here she was, her body covered in his filthy, her dress tore open, exposing pieces of flesh she didn't cover. That night, her broken mind was restored as she claimed the life of a vile man. Bäahal cried like she did when her mother died. She cried because she was born again. She still hated the words. She still hated to be beautiful.

« You're beautiful. » Said her targets. Her master repurposed her. She was still dancing but could no longer be enjoyed as the jewel of Astapor with the nasty scars on her back. Instead, he was so impressed with the way she killed his enemy, that the master decided to make her his armed hand. Her beauty was weaponized once again with little to no other choice. He had her choose her weapon and she chose daggers with sculpted owls as handles. It was the first choice she ever made in her life, that wasn't forced by circumstances. Owl daggers, as the owl was a symbol of one of the seven gods, the one supposed to protect the souls of those in need and guide those who were lost. It was a symbol of resistance as well, the protector of her mother's lineage. At this time, dragons became real when news of Daenerys Targaryen finally arrived. Legends and myths became true as reports of her previous exploits came to the ears of her master. Suddenly there was a way out if only Daenerys could come to Mereen and wreak havoc. If Only Daenerys could set her free...And she did. The second choice Bäahal ever made was to kill her master. She took advantage of what he taught her, the deceitful beauty, the seduction, and pretense of being submissive to him lured the man to his death. She gave him a quick one, not because of mercy, but because she was lacking time to make him pay for her suffering. And just like that, she was free...And still hated the words...

Bäahal closed her eyes as she brushed her hair. She watched in front of her, at the mirror that reflected her face. She heard Missandei talk about Grey Worm and their budding romance and it sincerely made her happy to see that her friend finally was embracing her new life. Freedom tasted differently for Missandei and it intrigued Bäahal who thought she might have a better clue about dealing with freedom if she asked Missandei how she dealt with hers. Love, friendships, the ability to make her own decision were part of it. Missandei allowed people into her heart despite a life spent in servitude and Bäahal envied her ability to do so. She was so closed off that it required a lot of efforts to get to her. Daenerys was able to, from the moment she learned her sister actually was her sister and not just Missandei's friend.

It started with small touches here and there, from holding her hand to giving her a name to wear proudly was another step forward. Bäahal put her brush on the table and tapped her fingers against the wooden flat surface. She heard her sister utter the words to her, whispering as she tucked some silver locks behind her ear. It didn't actually down on her that someone would find her beautiful and mean it as a genuine compliment. It didn't dawn on her that someone could see her and not feel the irresistible urge to use violence against her like so many men did. She shrugged and leaned her chin against the back of her arms, her purple hues still staring at her reflection on the mirror. Would her life get better? She was starting anew, with a family and people who cared for her this time. She made sure her mother's dreams came true and escaped from a life of servitude.

With the help of the queen, she would make sure her brothers and sisters in slavery would be free as well and no one would ever know the traumatism of a life of servitude. Sunni would have been proud of her, Bäahal believed. She would have told her that she was proud of her beautiful little girl for giving her life to such a noble cause. She would have been happy to see that her silver princess made a life of her own and was able to determine her future on her own. Would her life get better? She had no real clues. The princess already thought of how life would be once Cersei would be defeated. A life in a castle wasn't a life she thought she would lead. She couldn't trade the prison at her master's castle to another castle, regardless of how dipped in gold it was. She wasn't meant for counseling, even less when Daenerys didn't need her good advice. She didn't know much about the world and would probably explore it, on horseback.

« You're beautiful. » Missandei was told she was beautiful by Grey Worm and the idea that maybe someone would look at Bäahal and think of her as 'beautiful' made the silver princess blush. She surprised herself into thinking she wanted it as well, someone who would look past her walls and defenses mechanism, someone who would see that the happy and loving heart of hers was not destroyed by a life in that grinder. Someone who would genuinely think that despite her scars, she was still beautiful...just as her mother thought she was. Could it be? Could it be possible for someone to look at the princess and not be scared by the walls she kept up and sharp? Could it be possible for someone to look at her and not see the blood that soaked her arms or the fact she was a bastard and the product of a heinous act? Who was she, when she wasn't the daughter of Aerys II? Who was she, when she wasn't Daenerys sister? Who was she, when she wasn't a former slave? It must feel nice to have all the answers, to know why you were thrown into life and what your purpose was. It must feel nice to be able to look at your own reflection and think of yourself as more than the actions of the past or the labels some put on you.

Lord Jaime said he would remember her, but how would he remember Bäahal? She would never know the answer but she knew she had to make sure the memories he would have, should he survive the war against Cersei, were worth telling.

-TBC-