Chapter 34

Daenerys

She turned towards the roar in disbelief.

In a distance, she saw it. A dragon approaching, fast. In the moonlight its scales were dark, almost black like Drogon.

Drogon screeched then and Daenerys shook out of her incredulity. She flew Drogon higher to match the height of the approaching dragon.

The dragon roared as it approached. How could it be? Were there dragons all this while? How could we be so blind to this? A threat on the far side of the world where I once was? Jaehaerys' egg-

Orange black fire burst forth from the dragon's maw. It can't…It's too far- She watched the fire stream from the dragon. Her eyes widened as it did not fall short of them, its target, as she had expected. As it neared, Daenerys quickly urged Drogon down. He tucked his wings and they dropped from the skies. The flames skimmed over Drogon's tail and Daenerys could feel the intense heat of it behind her. The dragon behind her screeched and followed them.

It was smaller than Drogon, younger as well. But it was faster and from its previous demonstration, could breathe fire across incredible distances that neither Drogon nor Rhaegal could achieve.

Keligon.

Drogon's wings snapped open and he swooped back into the skies, his belly just skimming over the shorter pyramids. She led him in a series of twists and turns around the pyramids and behind them, the dragon followed. She glanced back but could not see if the dragon had a rider, the place on its back always concealed by the dragon's head.

No more running.

Daenerys guided Drogon around a particularly large pyramid. Drogon whirled around abruptly as they had trained for the Great War. Dracarys.

Black fire streamed from Drogon and into the face of the approaching dragon. The dragon flew up in an attempt to duck the flames. Wrong. Daenerys heard the dragon screech in pain and surprise, the flames skimming and presumably scorching its underbelly faster than it could ascend. But the dragon stayed on its path, flying upwards. This dragon was young; younger than Drogon and so its flames were not as hot, its scales not as thick, hard or impermeable to a fire as hot as Drogon's.

tolī ziry (chase)

With one flap of its wings, Drogon shot up into the air. From behind them, Daenerys glimpsed a rider on its back. The rider had long dark hair and from her small frame, looked female but Daenerys could not be sure. The rider turned to glance back at her before her dragon picked up speed.

Why is she running-

Suddenly a burst of yellow flames streamed into Drogon's side, scalding his wings and Drogon screech of pain was deafening. Drōgon! Daenerys' heart thudded in worry amidst the pain she felt from him. Beneath her, Drogon roared angrily and banked away from the fire. Daenerys turned to see Drogon's right leathery wing almost a charred ruin around the edges but as Drogon flapped his wings to stay in the air, it was evidently still functional.

She turned to see a milk coloured, almost golden, dragon fast approaching. It opened its jaws and Daenerys urged Drogon higher into the sky. Her breath caught as Drogon heaved with great effort, they rose into the skies with yellow flames streaming through empty air beneath them. Underneath them, the golden dragon flew after them.

Dracarys.

Drogon whirled around sharply so his nose was towards the ground, and black fire poured down to meet yellow. The flames meet in the middle. Daenerys guided Drogon lower, slowly and underneath them, it was evident the golden dragon was struggling. A screech escaped it and it dipped its head in the effort of sustaining the flame as long as an older dragon like Drogon. Then over its dipped head, Daenerys glimpsed its rider.

With the yellow flames lighting his face, Daenerys could see his long straight black hair. He had a set of defined cheekbones and strong jawline. He was evidently a good looking man and he looked familiar, a face Daenerys felt she knew but could not place at the moment. He was clean shaven and his face had a sheen of sweat from the heat of the fire. He looked at her then with dark angry eyes.

As Drogon descended over the golden dragon and its rider, the golden dragon's fire ceased unwittingly as the dragon could sustain its fire no longer. Drogon's black flames engulfed the golden dragon's head and it roared in pain. She heard the rider shout something. Then Daenerys heard the beat of wings from behind them. She turned to see a dark shadow duck down behind them and she felt agonising pain from Drogon that blotted out her vision for a moment. Drogon's screech of pain wrenched at her heart.

Then they were falling.

Underneath them, the golden dragon flailed aimlessly, its snout and jaw badly burnt. It was blinded, its eyes melted in its sockets, from Drogon's flames. The rider shouted something to the golden dragon but before they could act, Drogon, falling over them and faster, clasped his jaw over the neck of the golden dragon. The golden dragon roared and they plummeted to the ground.

Drogon flailed in pain but he did not release the golden dragon. Daenerys held on firmly to Drogon, glimpsing the dark dragon as Drogon twisted in the air, falling back first. Then Daenerys saw the source of Drogon's pain; the dark dragon had its large jaw of sharp teeth around Drogon's leg. Beating his wings to remain in the air, the dark dragon tore a large chunk of Drogon's leg off. Daenerys screamed as black steaming blood spurted from Drogon. With that, the dark dragon broke off from them, still in the air.

We are still falling.

Daenerys only realised when Drogon wheezed, struggling to right himself in the air with the golden dragon, flailing, still in his jaw. Sōvegon. She thought but as if she was the one to fly, she knew she could not; they could not. She clung onto his spikes firmly, glimpsing and feeling his injured and weakened right wing that could not unfurl against the strong and relentless winds.

Then suddenly, they slowed as the golden dragon righted itself and flapped its grey wings. But they were still approaching land, too fast to land unscathed. Drogon struggled and lost grip on the golden dragon then and Daenerys glimpsed the golden dragon sail through the air uncontrollably. But before she could witness it hit the ground, they collided with something hard and she was jolted, almost losing her grip on Drogon. She cried out as her leg exploded with pain. Drogon roared and she heard stones tumble and crack loudly as they slowed.

They were on the side of the pyramid, Drogon's claws on his forelegs had dug a deep trail over the side of the pyramid, slowing their fall.

Drogon was trembling terribly under her and with a wheeze and loud screech, they slid the rest of the way. Drogon settled on the ground in a boneless mass under her as they settled, the dust around them choking her.

"Drōgon!" she cried, her voice wavering. No, my child. She made to dismount but her leg flared in pain and she tumbled from Drogon. She landed heavily beside him and Drogon let out a low grunt, a rumble from his massive body beside her. He shifted his wing over her and she was plunged into darkness, "Drōgon…" she gritted her teeth against the pain in her leg and stood unsteadily. Blindly grasping at the spikes of his body for balance, she limped to his head.

His eyes were closed and his jaw, coated with blood, ajar, boneless against the ground; like Viserion's had been, against the ice before he sank into the water.

"Drōgon," she whispered, placing her hands on his snout. Drogon was warm against her palm. At the sound of his name, an eye half opened slowly and she looked into his dark red eye; it was like looking into lava. Drogon purred and smoke rose from his nostrils. She smiled and pressed herself to his snout. She watched his eye shift, following her, "are you hurt?" she glanced over him, knowing he was. She glanced over his wing to see the flesh of his forearm and the edges charred but his wing was still intact. Around his midsection, steaming black blood was pooling around his body, "my poor sweet child," she whispered.

Then suddenly, Drogon rose quickly, screeching deafeningly. A spear protruded from his neck. Anger filled her and she saw red as she turned to the rows of approaching soldiers wielding spears and shields. As some pulled back to toss their spears at Drogon, Drogon reared back his head and black fire streamed from him. The men screamed as they burned and the smell of burning flesh filled the night air. Their screams died down the moment it began.

Drogon rose but his injured leg collapsed beneath his weight and his hind dropped to the ground, making the ground tremble. He planted his forearm between her and the soldiers just as a spear embedded into his wing when it would have hit her. Drogon roared and fire poured from his jaw. She glimpsed him burning a row of soldiers in front of them. They barely struggled for a moment before dropping to the ground, dead.

She turned and made to mount Drogon. Drogon was in no condition to fly and Daenerys did not think he could, his leg unable to even bear his own weight much less launch them into the air. But if they wanted to have a chance to live, they would have to try. As she stepped on a spike at his side, the pain in her leg was unbearable and she fell back to the ground.

Then she heard beats of wings above her and suddenly, Drogon collapsed flushed against the ground. He screeched and flailed. His wing shifted and Daenerys found herself looking up at the dark dragon. It was perched atop Drogon, one leg on the back of his neck, another on his back. It lowered its head over Drogon's neck as it growled warningly, baring rows of black sharp teeth. On its back, its rider gazed at her with empty eyes.

"Daenerys Targaryen, surrender or you and your dragon will die," she turned. The rider of the golden dragon approached, atop a horse and flanked with soldiers.

"Who are you?" she stiffened. Beside her, Drogon growled and struggled against the dark dragon. Within his jaws, black fire streaked with red threatened to burst forth.

"Command your dragon to stop his attack or we will be forced to kill him," the rider said. Common tongue spoken with a southern accent and a handsome, almost familiar, face. Who are you?

Daenerys glanced over the soldiers, all wielding spears ready to be thrown at Drogon and her. Then she glanced to the dark dragon. It was smaller than Drogon and younger but still significantly large to keep Drogon from rising with his wounds. Within its jaw with its bared teeth, Daenerys glimpsed the orange black flames that threatened to be released over the back of Drogon. At such close proximity and a potential for prolonged exposure, Drogon could be badly burned.

Drōgon, keligon (stop).

Drogon's growling ceased but his eyes darted over the soldiers angrily.

"Mother of dragons indeed," she glared at the rider, "with the art of dragon taming lost, most could only dream to have that level of control over our own mounts," when she did not reply, the small smile faded from his face and he said sharply, "come and stand before me,"

"Make me," she replied flatly.

He narrowed his eyes then, "well, if I do that… I'm afraid the men I send for you won't make it out alive," she stared at him, "don't make me do what I don't want to," his eyes darted to the rider of the dark dragon atop Drogon. The dark dragon growled and Daenerys glanced to Drogon. He still had his forearm and wing between her and the men, protecting her.

Slowly, she limped from Drogon and he shifted to allow her, a soft screech escaped his throat in objection but she made her slow determined way away from him. As she went out of Drogon's reach, the soldiers jumped into action. Two men grabbed her roughly around her arm and shoved her forward. Her leg burned and she stumbled forward to the ground.

Behind her, Drogon roared and a stream of black fire left his mouth towards the soldiers before him. They screamed as they were set alight. Daor! Atop him, the dark dragon dug its claws into Drogon's back, making him bleed. Drogon thrashed as Daenerys did against the soldiers.

"Bring her," the man gestured and turned his horse around. The soldiers yanked her forward roughly and she stumbled along, "chain the dragon, if he tries to escape, kill him," no normal chain can hope to hold my Drogon now. It will have to be magic or it is useless.

Drōgon, umbagon (stay).

She stumbled along, behind his horse. Her leg burned with every step but she refused to be carried or worse, dragged. Soon, she realised they were going to the pyramid where she had once resided, the biggest one. As they approached, she glimpsed the golden dragon. It was limp on the ground with its head at an unnatural angle; dead. Its face was blackened to a crisp, burned by Drogon's fire, its eyes melted. But it was still alive from the burn as they saw earlier. The fall has killed it. Around the golden dragon, soldiers were fastening chains around the body, presumably to transport it away.

"Keep up!" the soldier escorting her grunted and shoved her forward. Pain shot through her body and she almost fell to the ground but managed to stay on her feet. She staggered forward.

She averted her eyes as the soldiers started hacking at the dragon's body viciously. The rider before her, now atop a horse, barely spared his dead dragon a glance. This man. He does not care for his dragon. He does not deserve to ride one. Glaring at the back of the man atop the horse, she let her rage fill her, dulling the pain enough for her to limp forward.

But Daenerys knew, the fact that he could ride one was telling that this man was no ordinary man. Somewhere in his veins, he had dragons' blood; like her. Then it came to her. His familiar, handsome face. He was familiar because he reminded her of Viserys and reminded her of her own face. He had Valyrian features. He was her kin. But how could it be that she had kin beyond Jon and Jaehaerys?

When they entered the pyramid, Daenerys had expected him to throw her into the dungeon but he did not. The soldiers escorted her away at a gesture from him and brought her to the stairs. She took the steps one at a time but on the fourth step, her knees buckled under the burning pain and the soldiers all but dragged her up the stairs. They came to a door and they opened it before shoving her in. She fell heavily to the ground on her hands and knees and the door slammed shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

Jon

He did not know much about the Dornish but he did not think them cowards. As the Crown's army marched on the hold of their bannermen, the Dornish Army has made a token effort to defend before they retreated when their loss was eminent. At Nightsong, Kingsgrave, Skyreach, Sandstone and now Hellholt, they ran and Jon let them. It made no matter to him anyhow. It would only be a matter of time before everything ended at Sunspear.

Jon watched as his men collected their dead. War always brings death; no matter who won, no matter how little, lives were lost. Overhead, Rhaegal screeched uneasily and Jon looked up to see the green dragon soaring through the air. The sky was blue as far as Jon could see and there was not a sign of any clouds. Jon wondered if Rhaegal's uneasiness stemmed from his own.

They were in unfamiliar territory; the desert in which the heat was relentless. Maybe this was the Dornish plan all along, Jon thought, to bring us to the desert before they ambush our army. But Jon knew that was a dumb plan the moment he thought it. Rhaegal would see them approaching for miles. Or if they mean to starve us and deplete our supplies by retreating. But Jon had also considered that in the war council and had arranged for a constant and bountiful supply of food and water for the army from the capital.

"Your Grace," Jon turned to see a soldier running towards him.

"Slowly lad," Jon said and the soldier caught his breath before him for a moment.

He then straightened and bowed hurriedly in greeting, "a raven from King's Landing, your Grace," Jon took the note from him and glanced at seal. It was Tyrion's seal; the Hand of the King and Queen.

"Thank you," Jon dismissed the soldier and broke the seal quickly.

He had not received word from Tyrion yet and Jon knew for Tyrion to send word, it must be something important. Jon was not a religious man but as he unfurled the note, he found himself praying to the Old Gods and the New. If anything were to happen to Daenerys and Jaehaerys while he left for a War that started for him, he could never forgive himself.

A rebellion in Meereen. Her Grace has left on the back of Drogon, accompanied by Jorah, Varys and 3 Kingsguard, to secure Meereen once more-

The blood in Jon's vein froze.

Daenerys. No.

She went off to a war of her own.

Please, no.

"Your Grace?" Jon looked up to see Gendry approaching.

"Gendry," just who I needed to see, "I'm leaving-"

"What?" Gendry blinked.

"I'm leaving you in-charge of the army and with the rest of this War," Jon said hurriedly as he turned towards the open area. Rhaegal! "Just keep on their tail and stick with the plan we talked about,"

A screech answered his call. Gendry walked after him, glancing up nervously at the approaching dragon.

"Wait, what is going on?" Gendry demanded, grabbing him around his arm and pulling him to halt.

Jon glanced at the soldiers who had looked up from dragging bodies onto carts. They instantly looked away, when they caught Jon noticing them, and resumed their work, "Daenerys," Jon said in an undertone, "she needs my help,"

"What?" Gendry frowned but Jon had already turned away, shoving the note at him. Gendry followed, looking down and reading it. He had started to learn to read as he became Lord of Storms End and learned quickly but he was still slower than Jon preferred at this moment, "so you're going to Me-Meeren?"

"Meereen," Jon nodded. Rhaegal landed heavily, hastily, and it suddenly made sense to Jon. Rhaegal had sensed that his Mother was in danger and had been unsettled by it. Panic clawed at Jon's insides, threatening to have him throw up at the thought of her in harm's way, again.

"Jon wait, but Tyrion already stated here that he will inform you 'if word comes from Her Grace that she requires assistance' and 'advise you stay focussed on the fight against Dorne'," Gendry said quickly, reading from the note.

Jon turned. He had not read that part but it did nothing to change his mind, "if word comes," Jon snapped, "how would she send word if she is in danger?"

Gendry blinked but as Jon turned from him, he grabbed at his arm again, "but-"

"I am going to her," Jon growled, "don't try to stop me," he shook Gendry off roughly. Rhaegal purred and lowered his snout to Jon as Jon approached. Jon patted Rhaegal's snout in brief greeting before stepping over to mount him. Rhaegal did not seem to mind that Jon had not engaged him as he usually did before he mounted him. He understood they needed to hurry; his Mother needed them now.

"Jon," Gendry said and Jon turned, ready to argue but Gendry looked resigned, "good fortune to you, brother,"

Jon nodded stiffly, "and to you, brother,"

"If the Queen is in any trouble, you'll need an army if you're going to save her," Gendry said, "she didn't go with one," Daenerys probably decided to depend on the people there to rally to her side. If she failed, the people has not done as she thought, "take some of our men," Gendry urged.

"There is no time for our men to sail across the Narrow Sea," Jon replied anxiously. As he thought, something came to him; something mad. But he knew it must be done.

Gendry seemed to notice then that Jon had an idea, "what is it?" Gendry asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Jon shook his head, "I'll think of something," Jon prepared Rhaegal to take off. The green dragon rose to its feet, spreading its wings, "don't lose my War, Lord Baratheon," Jon said before Rhaegal screeched and took to the skies.

Please, nothing can happen to you, Daenerys. How would I live then?

Daenerys

She awakened from her fitful sleep with a start. Her eyes flew open wide and she drew short sharp breaths.

Jon. She had dreamt of him. He was angry and he was flying.

Daenerys had managed to limp to the corner of the room that she knew, from groping about in the dark, was almost bare of furniture. It was in that corner, facing the door, did Daenerys settle and fall asleep in.

This room had no windows but for a small slit at the top of the wall that she just only noticed. At the moment, sunlight seeped through that slit, letting her know that day has broken. She shifted and hissed as pain shot through her leg, rippling through her thighs and up to her hip. She touched her leg gingerly, gritting her teeth against the pain. It did not feel broken.

She was no stranger to broken bones, she knew how they felt like. Viserys had flew into rage one night and broke her arm. As her bone crunched, she saw the horror and fear in his eyes and he had released her immediately. That night, as he took care of her, she had her big brother back again and Daenerys remembered thinking it was the best night she has had in a long while, even if she was left with the agonizing pain of her broken arm-

Daenerys froze, hearing approaching footsteps. Then the door opened and she tensed.

It was the rider of the golden dragon. His long hair was combed back neatly. The night before, it had been dark, almost black, but now, it shone silvery gold, like hers. She was unsurprised; having recognised his Valyrian features. His face was fresh, clean shaven and washed. As he entered and approached, she was disturbed to see that his eyes were an undeniable shade of dark purple. He was tall, his shoulders muscular and broad, his stomach flat. He wore a black plain tunic with large golden medallions strung together as a belt around his waist. Over his wrists, he wore black leather vambraces. He was young; looking a few years younger than her.

He tutted as he came to a stop before her, crossing his arms, "I will have a word with my men about how they treat the Mother of Dragons,"

Daenerys stared at him.

He frowned and crouched before her, "you will answer me when I talk to you," he lowered his voice, a warning.

"Who are you?" she asked through clenched teeth.

He paused, blinking as if surprised at the question she asked. Then he rose, "I believe you were told that I am Lazeo zo Ghazaq. You came to kill me," he paced away from her before he turned to look at her again. Lie. He looked a Valyrian and evidently last night, he had his hair coloured so he could pass off as a Meereeneese; as Lazeo zo Ghazaq. But he is not and he is not hiding it any longer. His ruse was for me, "you are a smart woman and you are thinking that I am not Lazeo zo Ghazaq," he smiled at her. She pursed her lips, her face an expressionless mask of a Queen.

Could it be her brother's son? The other son he had with Elia Martell? He was supposedly murdered as a babe but his body had been mutilated beyond recognition-

"I'm Daemon," he said, peering at her, as if gauging her reaction, "Daemon Blackfyre,"

No. It is impossible. The Blackfyres are-

"The world thought we were extinct. Even the citadel thought so," Daemon said, "but here we are," he looked at her, expectant of a reply but she merely stared at him blankly. She glimpsed a flash of rage cross his face, not unlike how Viserys looked before he struck her. Predictably, Daemon Blackfyre took a step to her and starburst appeared across her vision. She felt her head collide into the wall beside her as her head snapped to the side from the impact, "answer me!" he shouted.

Pain exploded across her face and her head spun from the impact. She blinked before she looked up at him, glaring, "how is that possible?" she hissed softly, feeling hot liquid pour down the side of her head.

A smile spread across his handsome face when she spoke, "Maelys the Monstrous," he said reverently before his dark purple eyes fell on her, "you have heard of him, haven't you?" he asked. When met with only silence and a defiant glare, he advanced on her again and Daenerys nodded stiffly. There was no point in angering him now and suffering his beating. He will be angered when he needs to be. He paused and a small smile came upon his lips, satisfied at her response, "my grandfather,"

When Maelys Blackfyre was slayed by Barristan Selmy in Blackfyre rebellion, he was the last, or so people thought, with the end of the male line of House Blackfyre. No one thought the daughters would rise up. How naïve they all were; and I, the naivest of all, a daughter who rose from the ashes and reclaimed her father's throne but thought another could not or would not.

"You want the throne," she stated.

"Yes," he replied, "the Targaryens are weak, have been weak for many years, even before Robert Baratheon, and mad. You don't deserve to rule," he leaned over her, sneering. Daenerys stared blankly at him. He was trying to anger her, she knew, but his words could not hurt her; they mattered little to her. What could his words do to her already battered soul?

"How did you know I was here?" she asked quietly.

"Because I brought you here," Daemon replied simply, as if she should already know, "Qyburn. That man's thirst for vengeance is… unrivalled. He slowly rooted out all the Spider's little birds here one by one. Your Master of Whisperers have been whispering to you what I want to be whispered to you," Daenerys tensed. She wasn't betrayed, she was fooled, they all were. But that fact was little comfort to her now.

"Skahaz-"

"Oh I knew when he swore me his sword it was a lie but the Spider was looking for someone here loyal to you, someone useful and someone you could trust, so it would be safe for you to come. Skahaz is very useful in that regard," Daemon smiled, "him and of course, the Spider,"

"You want me here to kill me and take the throne,"

"Yes," he smirked, "the plan was to kill you and I am to ride your dragon. The people call him Balerion the Dread reborn; the people do not exaggerate. And as I have seen, it is the only dragon suitable for the Black Dragon to mount," Black Dragon. It was what the people called Daemon I Blackfyre, the first of the Blackfyre rebel; his namesake. And if the rumours were true, the Daemon Blackfyre before her had an uncanny resemblance to the first Daemon I Blackfyre; a bastard of a Targaryen.

His eyes were glazed over with a glint in them, "so… what are you waiting for?" she challenged him on when he did not continue.

His deep purple eyes fell on her then and a smile made them crinkle around the edges and for a moment, he looked almost kind. There was an undeniable charm about him, "that is my Mother's plan, you see. Kill you and I'm to marry my sister, to keep the bloodline pure, to ensure we would have the blood of the dragon in our veins for generations to come," he clasped his hands before him, gazing at her intently, "but she's an ugly thing and if not for her ability to claim a dragon, I would doubt if she even has a trace of dragon's blood in her,"

Daenerys paused and her body tensed, as if sensing danger before her head could comprehend what he was implying.

"But you," his eyes ran over her hair and face eagerly, "you are the very image of the Blood of Old Valyria," he crouched before her then, raising a hand to her face, "such a beauty. And the blood of the dragon so potent in your veins. Untainted," she withdrew from him as much as she could as he ran the back of his index finger gently along the side of her face, "I will be King and you will be my Queen. You will bear my children who will ride dragons and the dragonlords, the true dragonlords, will rule again for dynasties to come,"

She seethed and pushing away his touch, she slapped him soundly.

His head snapped from the impact with shock evident on his features. Daenerys tensed then, ready for the returning blow. But instead, he slowly turned back to look at her. His purple eyes darkened then and a smirk slowly spread over his lips. He lunged forward and grabbed her jaw, rough enough to bruise, in his large hand, "look at you, truly the dragon's daughter. And now, a dragon in your own right," he breathed. His breath was hot on her face. She attempted to twist from his grasp but his hand was strong and unyielding.

Without warning, his other hand curled into a fist and he punched her in her middle, hard. All the air left her lungs from that one vicious blow and Daenerys could not breathe for a long moment and it left her gasping for air but to no avail. He released her and rose. She curled forward, holding her middle, biting her lips with the effort not to groan or let out even a whimper of pain.

"The bastard, the one you claim as a husband and made a King," he said as she finally managed to draw a shallow shaky breath. From that simple movement, her middle flared, "you bring disgrace to our blood by doing that," he hissed, "he stinks of Northern dogs," rage turned her vision red and she tried to straighten to glare at him but her stomach exploded with pain and she sagged against the ground again. Daemon continued, ignoring her, "but I suppose I have to give him some credit, for turning the Martells against us, however he did it,"

Daenerys managed to prop herself up on shaky arms. Arianne Martell.

"Dornish snakes," Daemon sighed, "you could never fully trust them," he crouched before her then and she stiffened, "she was supposed to kill both of you quietly; or in her own words, remove the head, the foundation of the rule. That was the agreement. But she stopped sending word for a time then word from our spies came that she had her own plan to seat herself as Queen. No doubt, she thought once she was Queen, she could warn her King about us and hope to defeat us and be hailed as the hero who saved Westeros from the Blackfyre," Daemon spat.

Then suddenly, he laughed.

"Dumb bitch," he leaned closer to her, "but as stupid as she was, she managed to poison you, did she not? But she doesn't know, she doesn't understand our magic; lurking in the blood of the dragon. We are not so easy to kill," he smirked and Daenerys felt the reminder straight in her heart. But she did kill a dragon, the one I was carrying, my little dragon- "at least in her death she chose to do something for our cause, for her people I suppose, to redeem herself from her betrayal. It is for that, I just might spare Dorne when I come onto my throne. She tore you from that Northern bastard, with her schemes and her words, and you both are stupid enough to let her," he hissed, "she is good at it, I'll admit that. Vipers, smart and cunning,"

She froze, Jon's words coming to her. She killed our daughter because of me. It is my mistake, Daenerys. She could still see the pain and guilt that wracked through him as he told her. He was so ashamed he had not even come to her and had gone to war all to right 'his' wrong. And she had stupidly let him because of the hurt his admission, Arianne Martell's lie, had caused her.

We should have stayed together. We always knew we were stronger together. Daenerys hunched over, struggling to rise. Then suddenly, she felt his face, warm, up against the side of hers. She withdrew, sitting back. She hissed as pain flooded her body from that small movement. She leaned against the wall, glaring at him.

He raised a well sculptured brow at her. A moment passed before he lunged forward. She pressed herself back but she felt his hand fist her hair and pulled her head back roughly, "you are mine, do you hear me? You are here now and you will be as I want you to and I want you to be a wife to me. If you do that, you would be my Queen," he whispered, his hand tightening, threatening to tear her hair from its roots. Regardless, she struggled, "or, you will die and I will mount your dragon. With it, I will burn your Northern dog, the little bastard you have with him and all of the North,"

A fire sparked and consumed her at his words. He threatened her blood, her pack. In the background then, a roar, Drogon's roar, was heard. Daemon looked up, puzzled and some fear crossed his eyes. Twisting out of his grasp, she punched him in the jaw before she dug her nails into his face, clawing at his eyes. He cried out angrily and shoved her back hard. The back of her head collided into the wall behind her. She glared, watching as he stumbled back, his hand touching her face gingerly. When he removed his hand, Daenerys saw two long deep bloody scratches over his eye but his eye seemed unharmed. Pity.

He looked at her then and Daenerys knew, in Viserys' words, she has truly woken the dragon. He closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed her hair. Dragging her to her feet, he punched her in her middle twice before he let her sink the ground. White hot pain, worse than the last one, flooded into her middle, starburst from it blinding her momentarily. Her body reeled from the agony as he released her and she caught herself on her hands and knees. She could not feel her body beyond the pain, "I will have you cleaned and tonight, I will take you. You will be mine and you will give me a son. If you do, all will be forgotten. If not, I will have you killed, then your King and your bastard son," he stated before he made to turn to leave.

"No," she seethed.

Daemon's footsteps stilled and he turned back to her slowly, "what did you say?" his voice was low, dangerous.

"I said," she lifted her head and glared at him, meeting his eye, "no,"

He approached and she saw him pull back his large hand before he backhanded her across the face. She collapsed to the ground, tasting blood filling her mouth rapidly. He crouched before her and his finger came to her chin. She withdrew but found she could not, immobilised by the pain that was her own body. He touched her split lip roughly, staining his finger with her blood, "By Blood and Fire, I will have you tonight," he brought his bloodied finger to his lips and let it rest on his tongue. Blood and Fire.

Blood first. Her blood. His purple eyes lit up when he tasted her.

She felt bile rise in her throat. When he exited, the door slamming behind him, she retched and threw up.