She decides her dragons' names after a dream.
A white-haired man dressed in flaming red robes comes through the door of a crimson-colored mansion. Turning around, he calls for his beloved. A silver-haired woman appears behind him, and they call their dragons. 'Fang', the man says, while the woman shouts, 'Shaw'.
They exchange a kiss before mounting their dragons. In synch, Fang and Shaw go up in the sky. They fly across the entire city—which possess an unique beauty, unlike anything in the Free Cities or across the Dothraki Sea—and land on the top of a volcano.
The scenery changes. A dark-haired boy with a scar around his left eye rides a dragon above a city of roofless towers and surrounded by volcanoes. He screams in despair and calls for the dragon he rides, 'Druk'. Next to him, another dragon falls, and screams can be heard.
Since she has no better ideas, she names them Druk (the white one), Fang (the greenish one) and Drogon (the black one)—she did not like the name Shaw, so she decides to pay a tribute to her sun-and-stars instead.
After the excitement of hatching dragon eggs and being truly acknowledged as queen, real life comes back to her when Cersei reminds her she needs to write to her father to pledge House Lannister's support. "I'm an exile, just like Ser Jorah. I can't rally the West all by myself."
With that in mind, she leads her khalasaar—yes, hers now, composed of all dothraki who knelt before her after the dragons were born—to Myr, where, according to Ser Jorah, one can find an outpost to send letters to everywhere in Westeros.
It's a ridiculously long ride, but she doesn't mind it as much as she did when they went from Pentos to the Lhazareen city. For starters, they don't stop as often, since they have a precise destination, instead of just riding across the Dothraki Sea. That alone makes the journey faster. Secondly, now she can practice her bending in the open.
And gods, how quickly she improved! It seems that her dragons' birth awakened something within her, for she was suddenly able to do things she had never been able to do—throw big fireballs, breathe fire from her own mouth, use fire to propel herself up in a jump… So many things! Granted, she still has to learn to control these new powers, lest she accidentally burns her own tent or something else, but for someone who used to be a mere excuse of a firebender… She can feel the flames in her veins. It's almost as if I became a dragon myself!
(The thought saddens her a little, because her inner child wishes for wings, but she quickly brushes these whims aside. She's a khaleesi, proclaimed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in Westeros. There is no time to be childish.)
Cersei helps her train in whatever way she can, despite her lack of experience with firebenders. "Your brother rarely bent in public, in respect to your non bender father", she explained one day. "Your mother spent most of her days out of the public eye. My brother might have seen them firebend, but—well, even if he had told me, it would be of little value right now."
The passing mention of the Kingslayer left her thinking for the rest of that day. He wasn't only sworn to the king, but the rest of the royal family too. He could have been a source of information about my mother and brother—perhaps he could tell things Viserys could not have known or remembered due to his young age. But for that, she'd have to not only meet him, but trust him enough to hear his stories. She doubts it will ever come to that, even if his sister is her friend.
Whenever she finds a piece of metal—either lying around or buried a few feet under the sand—Cersei challenges her to draw a specific shape with her bending. "If you want to tame your powers to avoid destruction, the best way is to focus on a goal."
She fails more often than not, but once she managed to draw a triangle.
Ser Jorah offers mostly moral support, with a few feedbacks. Snowbending is next to impossible in the dry weather of the desert, and he says he's out of practice. "It would be dangerous to snowbend in the Free Cities", he explained, "especially so soon after my sentence. Then, as I went further east, it got harder and harder. It's been a few years since I last bent."
Midway to Myr, she remembers the firebender duels Viserys sneaked her into when they were in Lys. The fighters used a varied range of movements, but the most often performed were kicks and circular motions. I should try these, she decides.
Cersei is initially surprised to see her training barefoot, but understands why as soon as a huge fire blow comes from her left foot. "This is new for me", she comments.
"I saw it once in Lys", Ser Jorah supplies. "Is that where you got the idea from, khaleesi?"
She nods. It's funny; while Cersei usually calls her 'Your Grace' or 'Queen Daenerys', Ser Jorah prefers her Dothraki title. "Viserys and I watched a few professional fighters there."
"And is that what you wish to learn?", he asks.
"I want to learn everything about firebending", she replies without hesitation. "I'll be recognized as a master as well as a queen in Westeros. No one will dare question my rule then—not when their ancestors allowed Targaryens who did not bend fire solely due to their sex."
Even Viserys could not hide from her that their father was a non bender, nor that their line comes from Aegon IV, a lightningbender who disguised himself as a non bender so people would not crown his brother instead. There might have been other non bender Targaryen kings—she has yet to ask Cersei and Ser Jorah about it—but, if the nobles of Westeros allowed these two to rise to power, they have no moral ground to refuse to bend to her—especially when she is responsible for the return of dragons to the world.
Finally, they arrive in Myr—a city she hasn't been to in nearly ten years, if her memory is right. The Dothraki camp just outside the city walls, by her command—the last thing she needs is to wage an unreasonable war against the Myr innocent citizens. Even though she cannot change her people's culture overnight, she'd rather avoid as much bloodshed as possible.
After making sure everyone was settled, she goes with Cersei and Ser Jorah, taking Irri and one of her bloodriders along. "The outpost is near the docks", her Queensguard commander says. "We must cross the city to get there."
As they ride, she catches sight of people with strange marks on her skin. "Slaves", Ser Jorah points out when she asks.
"I thought slaves did not exist in the Free Cities", she whispers, anger quickly rising in her throat.
"Myr is different in that aspect, unfortunately. They say there are three slaves for every freeborn."
She tightens her grip on her reins. This is wrong, she thinks. No one should be a slave. People should be free.
You could free these people, a voice whispers in her mind. Them, and everyone who is a slave in other cities, such as Slaver's Bay. With dragons, no one will dare question if you pursue a quest to end slavery.
The voice is tempting, but one look at her allies tells her it isn't right. I must take them back home, she reminds herself. When I take my place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I'll have power and influence beyond my dragons to help these people. If I use my dragons to force their masters to free them, what will happen when I go back to Westeros anyway?
Maybe Westeros is not your real home, the tempting voice whispers in response. Home is the house with the red door, isn't it? You were sneaked out of Westeros as soon as you were born; you are only Westerosi because of a few stolen moments.
No, she argues to the voice. I may have grown up in Essos, but I was raised by Westerosi, and Westerosi values were taught to me, not Essosi. I wouldn't be boiling with anger on these slaves' behalf if it hadn't been the case.
She is distracted from her mental debate when Ser Jorah points the outpost to her and Cersei. "What coin do you have with you, Lady Cersei?"
"Westerosi", she replies, producing a black purse. "Never had the need or opportunity to exchange it for local coin."
"It will likely suffice", he offers, "although it may be better if I accompany you to check if they will not try to get more than it's due in a fake conversion."
"I'll go too", Daenerys announces, although it's probably obvious.
The man working inside, fortunately, is fluent in Common Tongue, so Cersei doesn't need a translator for the negotiations. He does try to lie about how much she owes him in Westerosi coin, but Ser Jorah is quick to disprove his claim. The man pouts, but accepts the right value, and points her to where she can find parchment and pen to write.
At first, Daenerys thinks of leaving her friend and Hand alone while writing, but a voice that suspiciously sounds like Viserys reminds her not to trust people so blindly. So, gently, she asks to see the letter when it's finished. "I'm curious", she claims, but it's clear that Cersei knows the real reason.
To the Lord of Casterly Rock,
I write to you, dear father, not as a mere exile anymore, but as Hand of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—well, you know all the titles.
You may be wondering if I've finally gotten mad, given everything you must have heard of me after my exile—gods only know what rumours have circulated. I do hope you've only trusted Tyrion's word; he's your only trustworthy source on what happened in Winterfell.
Well, this matters little now. What matters is this: soon after I arrived in Pentos, I met, by chance, with the exiled Targaryens. After all I've been through at Robert's hands—you don't know half of it, I think only Jaime really does—I wondered whether Aerys wasn't an unfortunate exception, and whether the Iron Throne should return to House Targaryen after all.
With this in mind, I established an alliance with Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen by marrying the former, on the same day the latter wedded a Dothraki khal. Both of our husbands came to die, although at different times and under completely circumstances, but Daenerys was the one I grew the closest to.
Daenerys Stormborn, she's called due to the day of her birth, but she's truly a storm—in the best possible way. She stands up to what she thinks it's right, even putting her life in risk—and her values are in the right place. After her husband's death, she inspired so much loyalty that, for the first time in known history, the Dothraki kneeled before a woman.
...Although I must admit, it wasn't just Daenerys herself that drove the men to bow to her. On her husband's funeral pyre, she placed dragon eggs gifted to her on her wedding. She's a firebender, taking after her mother instead of her father—and I have seen enough of her to be sure she is more Rhaella's daughter than Aerys'.
The dragons hatched. No, I'm not japing. As I write, there are three tiny dragons playing with one another, learning to breathe fire. Daenerys' firebending improved exponentially after the hatching, and her people follow her faithfully—not blindly, but aware that she has their best interests in mind.
I know nothing about the current situation in Westeros, but, given Robert no longer has heirs and it will be a while before he gets those, I doubt it's stable. When Daenerys comes, I wish for you to side with us. I'm already Hand of the Queen, which will grant our House ample protection if you bend the knee to her.
Although her reign has just begun, I'm proud to serve Queen Daenerys, and so will you be.
With the best regards,
Cersei Lannister-Targaryen, Hand of the Queen
"You flatter me", she says, chuckling.
"Father won't support you if he's not confident in your character", she replies. Then she smirks. "If I have to overpraise you, so be it."
"Oh, this is just sweet, fake words then", she teases back.
"Believe what you want, Your Grace."
The two laugh briefly. It's good to have a friend.
When Cersei recites her name and the name the letter is addressed to, the man raises his eyebrows incredibly high. "You're a Lannister", he states, surprised.
"Yes", her Hand replies slowly. "Why is that… important?"
He runs a hand through his half-green, half-black hair. "I have a friend who is awaiting to meet a Lannister", he replies. "He says he has a gift from the Lannister friend he lost."
Cersei's eyes go wide at that. "Who was this Lannister friend?"
"I don't know his name", the man admits, "but he came here from the Old Valyria peninsula. He was really sick—I remember hearing that from my friend—and died less than a month later. Apparently, he left some sort of inheritance, and trusted my friend to pass it to the next Lannister he saw."
Cersei looks pleadingly at her, and she nods. She turns back to the man. "Please, take us to him."
"Of course, let me just finish sealing your letter."
An hour later, they follow the man—Lynak, he calls himself—across half of the city, until they reach a rich house painted in white and light blue. "His name is Pascal", Lynak informs them. "Let me get you inside."
He tells a maid (or a slave? She can't say), in bastard Valyrian, that a Lannister wants to meet Pascal. The woman goes inside to report to her boss (master?) and soon returns to open the doors for them.
A man dressed in an olive-colored jerkin and grey pants, along with a grayish blue shirt, introduces himself as Pascal. He holds a long wooden box, which he places on a table. "Which Lannister are you?"
"Cersei Lannister", her Hand declares, curtseying briefly.
Recognition dawns on Pascal's face. "You must be his niece then", he says. "I was expecting his nephew… what is the name he gave me? Oh—Jaime."
"That would be my twin brother", she replies. "He was recently sent to the Night's Watch in Westeros, so he is unable to come here. Are you talking about… my uncle Gerion?"
"Yes, yes", he replies with a smile. "A good friend I made before he sailed to Valyria, against my advice—and everyone else's, truth be told. He came back here terminally ill; I was honestly surprise that he got out of that hellhole at all, and with is task completed."
"His task completed—", Cersei cuts herself off with a gasp, seemingly understanding something. She motions to the box. "Is this—"
"Yes", he replies, more softly this time. "I wish I could keep it to myself—it's very valuable after all—but I could not betray my friend. Open it, my lady."
Carefully, as if the wooden box would break otherwise, Cersei opens it. She grabs it and pulls it up. A bright sword comes out. "Brightroar", she whispers.
"The very one", Pascal agrees. "And, as a Lannister, it is yours."
After they are out of Myr, Cersei tells her all about the sword and her uncle who retrieved it. "Valryian steel swords are extremely rare, especially in Westeros, and many got lost over the years. Your House had two of those, but one got lost to the Blackfyres—named after the sword, might I add—and the other got lost beyond the Wall. House Lannister had Brightroar, but it was lost even before Aegon the Conqueror defeated the last Lannister king. Tommen II sailed with it to Valyria to find riches and never came back."
"And your uncle?"
"Uncle Gerion took it upon himself to retrieve the family's ancestral sword", she replies, a bit sadly. "We were never close, but my brothers loved him. He left Casterly Rock almost a decade after the rebellion, and never returned. Father has been treating him as dead since my second son's birth."
All three of them test their bending with the sword—even Ser Jorah manages to draw water from air to make it into snow. She knew, from Viserys, that Valyrian steel was special not only for its rarity, but because its use enhanced one's bending. There are special bending moves designed specifically for the use of a Valyrian steel sword or dagger, and although she knew nothing about those, she hopes to learn someday.
"Why did he expect your brother?", she asks out of curiosity.
"I can't be entirely sure", she admits, "but it might be because Jaime is the only one out of us three who was truly interested in fighting—therefore, the one in whose hands this sword would be the most useful."
Oh well, that's fair. "Do you want to go back to that outpost and write to your father about your discovery?"
Cersei perks up at that. "I didn't think of it", she admits. "But it's a good idea."
They ride back to the outpost. Lynak doesn't try to lie to them about costs this time—actually, since he hadn't sent her first letter yet, he charges a much smaller fee.
When they go back to her khalasaar, one of her bloodriders, Rhakaro, announces they've caught a prisoner. "Bring me to him", she asks, curious as to who it might be.
When she enters the tent, she is greeted by a silver-haired, purple-eyed young man. "Daenerys Targaryen?" She nods. "Well, I must say I had hoped to meet you under different circumstances. My name is Aegon Blackfyre, although I've been raised as your deceased nephew, Aegon VI Targaryen. Pleasure to meet you, fake aunt."
