Prologue
Her people had spent hours combing the barren red beaches for driftwood to add to the pyre. It was a great sprawling tomb, giving off deep shadows in the soft light of the evening. Her daughter was there, a tiny thing who lived for a few hours before she was torn from her grasp. And he was standing there, wounded and weak from hunger but still standing tall next to Ser Barristan. Drogo was a beast, a man who had taken her not as a man takes a woman but as an animal, and who had then murdered his own blood.
Her white knights pale blue eyes wandered listlessly back and forth. "My princess, I know what you intend. Please, think of your son, think of your house, think of all your people waiting for you in Westeros. Step away, my princess."
She gazed at him for a long time, thinking of how the old man loved her. When she spoke it was with a light quality. "I am not a Princess. I am a Queen. I was my brother's heir. The Iron Throne is mine by rights." She lifted her head up tall, a proud Queen of old Valyria. "Whatever may come, do you swear to obey me?" Ser Barristan fell to his knee and kissed her hand. "I served your father, and betrayed him. I shall obey you until I meet the Stranger." Daenerys said softly, "I shall test that oath this night."
Before Ser Barristan had a chance to speak she pulled away, to talk to the people who had left their huts on the road to watch the scene on the shore. With her son in her arms, Daenerys moved towards them. "You are my khalasar. I see the faces of slaves. I free you. If you wish to leave no one will stop you, but if you stay you will help me regain my kingdom." The Dothraki looked amongst each other and ran toward the herd, taking their leave from those who remained, a pitiful collection of men too old to ride, helpless women, and weak children. Drogo lifted his glance upwards from the earth and gave a savage smile full of brutal hate.
Undaunted, Daenerys moved towards the pyre, placing her three dragon eggs next to linen wrapped body of her daughter. Standing proud, she put all her composure remaining into her voice. "I am Daenerys Stormborn, the rightful Queen of Westeros. I know what it is like to be a slave, and I swear to you that those who would harm you will die screaming." Drogo let out a laugh, hard and evil.
"Ser Barristan. Bind my husband to the pyre." Ser Barristan fell onto his knees begging her to reconsider. "My Queen, this is an evil thing. Give him a clean death." Daenerys gazed at him with fire in her eyes. "You swore to obey me."
Drogo struggled against Ser Barristan, trying to break free from his bonds. Ser Barristan let the Khal hit his armour for a few seconds, and then threw him a swift kick in his wounded knee. His face crumpled up into a look of severe pain, and then he let out a scream that seemed to contain all of Daenerys hate for him. As Ser Barristan threw him down onto the pyre, Drogo gave her the first look that may have been fear.
Ser Barristan finished tying the Khal to the pyre and moved over to Daenerys. She seized his torch and threw it into the oil-soaked wood. After a momentary sputter, the flames caught, lifting up into the sky.
Drogo's braid caught first, the flames running up as swift as a dragon. When it reached his head he started to scream, naming her a whore, an animal, a witch. She smelt his body burning, a smell that felt like triumph. His body was morphing, tearing itself apart. When he fell silent there was only the sound of the sea and the flame. As the fire reached her daughter her heart felt as though it would break her chest.
The flames were licking the pyre, throwing up shapes unimagined by those who did not have the blood of the dragon. There were stallions, great ships event a red dragon that seemed to fly above them. Her daughter's soul had joined her ancestors. The flames called to her, in their vibrant colours of green and blue and crimson. Beside her Ser Barristan reached out to her, trying to pull her away from the flames. But the song, the song of power, the song of life, demanded that she move into it. She put her son in the knight's arms and took a hesitant step forward.
The heat was pushing forward know, a wall of fire burning away her past. Her son Aegon was crying, his tiny voice a lamentation for his sister. If I look back I am lost. A sands of the beach were as hot as wildfire and as soft as feathers. A hand reached out towards Daenerys, and she took it moving into the fire. The flames kissed her, as persistent as a lover and twice as tender. She felt a feeling of joy, an overbearing ecstasy enveloping her. She saw her brother, lying dead in the Womb of the World. She saw herself in a bed of blood, holding her daughter against her. And she saw Ser Jorah, who had died to save her and her son.
Her simple gown of purple silk was black and burning, so she pulled it off of her. The sensations on her skin made her feel electric with joy. There was a sudden crack, and a shadow in the flames greeted her. Daenerys could not here the cries of wonder from her people, but she knew that this night was one of wonder.
The platform was being weighed down by the sheer force of the flames that enveloped it, and was sputtering its complaint. A second crack drowned out even the sound of the flames, and the shouts from Ser Barristan distracted her from her reverie. If she could have, she would have told him that there was nothing to fear, that she was free.
The platform collapsed upon her, in a sea of shimmering light. The third crack was a loud as end of the earth. Her arms reached out into the swirling lake of fire, trying to find her children. The end came suddenly, filling her heart to the brim with liquid flame.
When the sands had cooled to a warm caress in the morning sun, and the waves were lapping the beach gently, Ser Barristan moved into the wreckage of ash and embers and bones. Curled up like a child Daenerys was blackened and naked. But she was unharmed by the fire that had ripped through the pyre.
On each of her breasts suckled a dragon, cradled in Daenerys' arms. She stood a vision in the morning light. She revealed a third dragon, which was draped languidly between her neck and shoulder. When the dragons saw the knight, they turned their ageless bright eyes upon him.
In reverent wonder, the knight flattened himself against the warm ground, as the Dothraki did the same. She took her son into her arms and lifted him onto her shoulders. As Daenerys looked upon them, she knew that from the oldest grandmother to the smallest infant they were hers and hers alone, from now until the end of time.
The black lifted his gaze from the knight and towards the low sun. He raised his smoking head and raised a thin, mournful cry. His brothers joined him, their wings raised wide and translucent against the light. The music of dragons was heard once again.