Translations are at the bottom.

I push against a stone wall, the air around me cold. But when it moves aside I see a vicious battle, blood flying everywhere and bodies falling. Men in gold fight men in silver and red. As I walk through the battlefield, I the blades sing through me as if I'm merely a ghost. In the center of the battle stands a man in gold. His hair is black, but his eyes the same violet as mine. And in his hand rests a silver and black bastard sword, the end of the hilt engraved with a firestone. "Jaenarys." He says, and suddenly the men around us disappear, leaving us alone.

"Who are you?" I ask, staring up at the monster of a man. "Where are we?"

"Look around. Surely you've seen paintings of these battles. Surely your family told you your history." He speaks, and I look around.

We're on a cliff, the water below us harsh and rocky. "This is Massey's Hook." The man nods.

"I thought you would be smart." I hear a long, high note ringing through the air, turning around in a circle.

"This is a dream. I have to wake up."

"Aye. But not quite yet. It calls to you." I look at him in confusion, before he lifts the sword. "You know this blade."

"It was lost. I do not know why I keep dreaming of it."

"Because it is yours."

I snort. "The long march bust really be getting to me."

The man stalks towards me, hand on my shoulder. "Blackfyre calls to you, Targaryen. It is yours to hold, yours to swing."

"You are Aegor Rivers. Bittersteel." I gasp. "You had it last."

"You will find it soon. Remember, your search begins with a call east."

"'A call east?'" He nods, and suddenly I'm back in the cold corridor, frantically pounding against the wall. "No, no, please. I don't - I don't understand, I don't understand!"

"I don't understand." I shoot up in my little shaded area, panicking, Dany frantically soothing my arms and trying to match out breaths. "I-I don't. Daenerys, I don't understand!"

"Neither do I. Skorion massitas, hāedar?" She asks in our mother tongue.

I clutch her hand, our khalasar staring in fear. "A dream, mandia."

"Quba?"

"Vestragon koston daor." I rest my head back against the hot stone, sighing.

"Do you want Davvi?" My sister asks tiredly, already settling down for more rest.

"Ēdrussis, Daenerys. Kostilus." I tell her soothingly, standing up shakily and walking over to where Davvi rests in her cage. She coos as she wakes up, nuzzling my hand. "Rytsas, zaldrītsos." She purrs back and climbs up my arm, the little scratch marks not bothering me as she settles against my breast once more, her wings spread. "Avy jorrāelan. Daorys jeme ōdrikilza."

Hours have past since I woke from my dream, and I spend the time helping the remaining khalasar drink and eat what little we have. They thank me in nods and sighs of relief, one boy even petting my dragon for comfort. My sister still sleeps, Jorah near her for protection. My arakh rests on my hip, but my sword lies next to Dany, in hopes that she could also protect herself. My mind is still stuck on my dream. It felt so real, as if I was there in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion. Aegor was holding Blackfyre, one of the lost family swords. It is unknown what happened to her after the battle - it was never seen again. Some say it was lost on the field, to covered in blood to find. Some say the Golden Suns - Aegor's mercenaries - took the weapon with them. So what is it presumably doing in the east? Is it even there?

Any further thought on what I had seen halted when I hear the growing sounds of hooves against dense sand. Caraxes neighs and I walk up to where he stands under a shelter made of sheets. "What is it?" Obviously, he does not respond, but as the other horse gets closer I see it has no rider.

Wait. That was Rakharo's steed.

I rush over to where Jorah is standing, staring at the red painted horse. My gods, is that blood?

Flies hum around a dripping satchel, and I can see hair sticking out. I cover my mouth as Jorah lifts it, noticing the roughly chopped hair, before setting it down and pulling out what was once Rakharo's growing braid. My sister takes my free hand, Davvi crawling to my back and nuzzling into my neck.

"You don't need to see this." Jorah tells us, but my sister shakes her head and walks over to the satchel.

"He is blood of our blood." She looks down at the severed head, then back up at Jorah. "Who did this?"

"Khal Pono, perhaps. Khal Jhaqo. They don't like the idea of a woman leading a khalasar."

"They'll like it less when we're done with them." I growl, standing behind my sister. "Pyryrzy daorunta zālagon." I promise her, and she nods.

Behind us, a woman starts to cry, and I watch sadly as Irri kneels before the satchel carrying the last remains of her love. As she weeps I kneel in front of her, my hands keeping her face focused on us. "Mori atthasish oakah moon!"

"Shh, shh." I run my hands through her hair. My sister settles her hand on the handmaid's hair as well.

"Affa, affa." She tells her. "Mori laz vos atthi oakah vosecchi."

"Jin tish mori!" Irri argues, sobbing. "Mori ogish ven mae ven rho. Mori avvirsosh khadoes moon. Me laz odothrae kimi mae she Rhaeshi Ajjalani avvos." My sister kneels with us, and we wrap our arms around the emotionally wounded girl.

"Affa. Kisha amariki vorsqoy ha maan. Majin anha astak yeraan asqoy, me-Rakharo adothrae kimi mae ajjalan." Dany promises her, and we hold the shaking Irri in our arms, her head between our necks as we stare at each other, matching fires burning in our eyes.

High Valyrian:

Skorion massitas, hāedar? - What happened, little sister?

Mandia - older sister

Quba? - Bad?

Vestragon koston daor. - I cannot say.

Ēdrussis, Daenerys. Kostilus. - Sleep, Daenerys. Please.

Rytsas, zaldrītsos. - Hello, little dragon.

Avy jorrāelan. Daorys jeme ōdrikilza. - I love you. No one will harm you.

Pyryrzy daorunta zālagon. - They will burn.

Dothraki:

Mori atthasish oakah moon! - They killed his soul!

Affa, affa. Mori laz vos atthi oakah vosecchi. - Shh… They cannot kill his soul.

Jin tish mori! Mori ogish ven mae ven rho. Mori avvirsosh khadoes moon. Me laz odothrae kimi mae she Rhaeshi Ajjalani avvos. - They did! They butchered him like an animal. They did not burn his body. He can never join his ancestors in the Night Lands.

Affa. Kisha amariki vorsqoy ha maan. Majin anha astak yeraan asqoy, me-Rakharo adothrae kimi mae ajjalan. - Shh. We will build him a funeral pyre. And I promise you, Rakharo will ride with his ancestors tonight.

Dothras chek. - Ride well.