I am the blood of the dragon, I said, repeating the phrase over and over in my head. I knew the flames would not hurt me, but I was still apprehensive about walking into them. No, I told myself. I would not fear the fire. Fire was a noble, pure thing. And its power would soon belong to me.
I followed my dream and stepped over the burning wood of the outer circle. My dress caught alight, but I was not disturbed from my purpose. I walked towards my husband, my poor, dead husband and my unborn children, who were calling to me. The flames obscured me from my followers, the few loyal Dothraki who did not despise me, the slaves I had freed and Ser Jorah, my adviser. I was glad of the privacy. They did not need to see this.
My dream had told me that I would be weak tonight, and I feared it. Weakness was a fault. But I did my best not to stray from the instructions the dream gave me. Because after the weakness of tonight, I would be reborn as a strong ruler who would be both feared and loved. After tonight, I would do great things.
I continued into the flames, and I reached the body of my sun and stars. The wood under him was aflame, but his body was so far undisturbed. I cupped his cheek with my hand, his skin warmed to a lifelike temperature by the fire. The other hand trailed over his chest, avoiding the wound that had killed him. It moved down to his stomach and back up again, to stroke the coarse hair of his long braid for the last time. They would see in the nightlands that he had been a great warrior, a great khal, but for now, his hair disintegrated into ash as the fire kissed it. This was the last time I would see my khal, my husband. But he would be alive forever in my dreams and memories, in my children and in the nightlands, where he would ride with his ancestors for all eternity. I vowed that he would never be forgotten.
"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Then you will return, my sun and stars," I murmured. The words of the witch were intended to be sarcastic, but I would do anything to have him back. I would do the impossible. I was about to do the impossible.
"I will return, moon of my life," I heard, whispered through the fire and I knew it was him. And that meant I could let go, because I knew he would always come back to me.
His body was engulfed in fire, and I stood there naked. Honestly, I had forgotten that I was wearing that dress, the one I'd married in. I wore it because I wanted rid of everything that I was when I was a pathetic little girl who would allow herself to be raped, just because her brother commanded it. I wasn't a girl anymore. I was a dragon in human form. The last Targaryen. The fire had consumed the dress, just as the dragon had consumed the girl.
The last traces of my Drogo's body were ash, but the eggs beside it remained. Three beautiful eggs. They were not stone. They had just been dormant for more than three hundred years, waiting for their mother. I picked up one, the black one, and for the first time I felt movement from inside it. I clutched him to my chest as he attempted to break free from the shell he had been imprisoned inside for centuries.
I was naked now, covered in smoke and ash. From this night, I knew I was a true Targaryen, born of fire and blood as I saw the snout of my child, my dragon emerge from his cracked shell. He was sheer black, scaled with a red deeper than rubies. He crawled out of the shell, which I dropped on the floor. It shattered, but the egg was of little value now. I placed him on my shoulder and reached for the second egg, which was deep green. The dragon inside was slightly smaller than the first, but was green like emeralds, speckled with bronze. I placed him on my other shoulder as I moved to caress the larger one. They needed names. Powerful names, fitting their status. They were the most powerful creatures in all the world. And they were going to conquer seven kingdoms for their mother.
He was big and strong, like Drogo. But I couldn't name him Drogo. Drogo was the name of a Dothraki Khal, not a dragon. It did not fit. But Drogon fit. It was perfect.
The next one, I decided, should be named for the lost Targaryen dynasty. Her brother, the one she had never known was called Rhaegar. He was brave, and a true Targaryen, from what I had been told. So I named the green dragon Rhaegal.
The two young dragons settled on my shoulders and I reached for the final egg. I knew it was about to hatch to complete my trio. I knew now that the only children I would ever have would be these three, the last dragons. So I embraced the moment as Viserion hatched, cream and gold. I named him for my brother, Viserys, not because he deserved the honour, but because he had inspired me to take my rightful place.
And I stood in the fire with my three newborn children, Drogon and Rhaegal on my shoulders, gaining strength with each passing moment. Viserion was curled in my hands, stretching his limbs for the first time. And I spent the night bonding with my dragons, my sons, watching them learn how to move, letting them bathe in the fire that birthed them.
The night began to fade, and the dawn arrived. The flames began to burn themselves out and my dragons clutched me for warmth and support. I sat on the ground, allowing them to settle in my lap. My followers were still there, I remembered, and I knew it was time to introduce them to the world.
I turned to face my people, covered in the ash and soot of the fire. Drogon climbed onto my shoulder, crying out a newborn roar to all the people. Dragons were in the world once more, he cried. And they would conquer it again, as they had before.
I stood, my sons clutching my body, as the other two joined in the cry. It was already clear that Drogon would be the leader of the three and I smiled up at him as my people looked on. They knew that I meant something now. They knew we had a chance. They knew I was the mother of dragons.
A/N Hope you liked - please review.