AN: Thank you for your interest in this story! I hope to repay it in the future. This chapter is one of the flashbacks, meaning it will not change as much about canon as the ones set around season 6 (otherwise the status quo of season 6 would not exist anymore). Still, some things will be different, since for a long time Daenerys's storyline is largely unaffected by what happens in Westeros and vice versa. This chapter seeks to establish my version of her as a character by combining two important moments from her canon storyline. So, without further ado, here is the chapter that explains the SI part of this story.

A Life for a Life

"My Queen…"

The words were a distant hush in a smoking sea of dizziness. There was a faint memory of pain, of heat, of… fire. The young woman shivered at the mere thought of the word. Fire… she had died by it. Died. How and why she was able to remember such a thing, she did not know. It seemed impossible, yet she recalled clearly that there had been scorching flames and blackish smoke, and then there had been nothing. Nothing at all.

Until there had been something, again, suddenly. A feeling, distant at first, but coming closer with every slow beat of her heart. And not just hers – there was another heart beating, all of a sudden, and then another, and a third as well. She had died, she knew, but through her first life's death, to new life she had given breath.

And its breath was hot and screeching, for it came from the mouths of three new-born dragons, whose wailing sounds pulled the young woman back from her death and into reality. As she opened her eyes, it dawned upon her that she was not where she had been before. In fact, looking down at her hands, she realized she was not even who she had been before. Her skin was paler and softer, too young for the age she remembered she had once had – more that of a teenage girl. Adding that to the fact that she was stark naked, as she soon noticed, and the three dragons crawling along her limbs, she began to surmise that something had profoundly changed. She had changed. She had died a woman on Earth and had been reborn into the unburnt body of none other than Daenerys Targaryen, judging from the watery eyes of the sun-tanned knight kneeling in front of her.

"Blood of my Blood," he whispered in awe as the dragon on her shoulder shrieked even louder.

The woman trembled. Her death, her rebirth, the dragons, the staring Dothraki, the precarious situation she found herself in… it all seemed too much to bear. For a while she simply stared back, her eyes apologetic, as if she could say or do anything to remedy the fact that she was and was not Daenerys at the same time. But no one seemed to notice. Rather, they looked at her in silent disbelief, dropping to their knees and listening to the unusual noises the dragon's throats made.

That's when she decided that if she had to walk down this path, she would walk it fully.

Like the wedding dress that had burned away on Khal Drogo's funeral pyre, she would shed the old life she had once lived and embrace this one. She would be the Mother of Dragons, and she would not fail in making this life worth her while.

"Ser Jorah, I would ask you for my clothes and my horse. We must ride soon."

He obeyed and sent for her Dothraki garbs, but did not look too confident doing so.

"Khaleesi, you… your dragons. It is impossible."

The black one on her shoulder screeched again, causing her to look him in the face. Were it not for his razor sharp teeth, she would have considered him somewhat cute, but even though he was a scaly little beast, she felt love for him. Unconditional love. She understood why these dragons were more than just pets or mounts. They were blood of her blood, as the Dothraki liked to say. They were her children indeed. And they, much like her, had been born to save the world.

"It may seem impossible, but only to him who has not witnessed them first hand. To us, Ser Jorah, they are just incredible, yet very welcome. They are… necessary."

"They will help you regain your throne, my Queen, it is true."

"Not just that…" The Mother of Dragons smiled as the black dragon's gaze met hers. "The dragon must have three heads."

She said those words to reassure herself, to sound as though she knew what she was doing, but sometimes, it seems, prophecies fulfil themselves. For as she spoke them, Daenerys realized a truth in them that none had seen before.

Three dragons.

One with scales as black as night and crimson wings.

One of shining emerald and glittering gold.

And one of icy white with steel-grey eyes.

How had no one seen it?

She put on the clothes handed to her without being able to turn away her gaze from her children. Her beautiful little dragons, her babies… she would see them grow. She would never put them in chains, never restrain them, never feed them on inferior food. It would cause trouble, here and there, but all of it paled in comparison to the icy threat of death that was gathering in the North. She needed them big, strong and healthy, and soon. But she needed something else first: an army. And she would not go down the path that in another life Daenerys would have taken. She would unite her children with their riders, and the dragon would have three heads indeed.

"The Red Waste stretches out wide," Ser Jorah said as he helped her atop her horse.

"Which is why we shall not travel it."

He furrowed his brows, and she understood that he was too kind to question her.

"I swore to these people, my people, that I would make their enemies die screaming. But how could I make thirst and starvation scream? No, Ser Jorah, that desert only offers death. We will take our khalassar and go the only place we can."

Rakharo, the fierce young warrior she had liked since the beginning, directed his horse to her side.

"We shall ride to Vaes Dothrak, Blood of my Blood," she told him in Dothraki.

"Good. The Dosh Khaleen will see you, Mother of Dragons, and you will reclaim Drogo's khalassar from those who stole it," he replied proudly.

"It is madness, Khaleesi," Ser Jorah interrupted, grabbing her reins and staring at her with a pleading face. "They will kill you and take your dragons."

She could have been angry at this display of distrust, but she knew he meant well, so Daenerys simply smiled.

"They cannot take my dragons. A dragon is no slave. Neither will I be enslaved or subdued anymore. I am the Mother of Dragons, and anyone who dares to cross me will see me for who I am. We will ride to Vaes Dothrak, Ser Jorah, and I will give those khals what my ancestors gave anyone who dared to oppose House Targaryen."

The stare they exchanged was intense, but after a few silent breaths, Ser Jorah nodded.

"Fire and Blood," he said in Dothraki before calling for his own horse.

"Fire and Blood," Rakharo agreed, looking at his khaleesi with determination.

Daenerys smiled. She looked from Rakharo, her bloodrider, to Jorah, her queensguard, and then to the dragons sitting either on her shoulder or behind her on her silver filly.

Then she rode to Vaes Dothrak. Only few of her loyal followers were lost to the heat and the sand, for which she was grateful, knowing just how many she would have lost had she chosen the route to Qarth. Sometimes on her ride, she found herself looking at Rakharo, whose loyalty and zest for life she admired, and it pained her to think she would have lost him too.

Not this time, she told herself.

And yet, despite her determination, it felt odd to be here. This world, as much as she had imagined she already knew about it, seemed a vast enigma to her. Yes, many things were just the same as she had expected them to be, given her knowledge of the story, but always to a certain degree only. To read about something, to see it acted out was something entirely different from living in it. And then, there was always this nagging voice that wondered about her old life, back in another world. Why exactly had she died? There was so very little she could remember other than the flames. She even found it hard to remember her loved ones, their faces slowly blurring before her inner eye as if in a dream. She knew there had been people dear to her heart, she knew there had been a home and interests and a job… but it all faded with each step her silver filly took. Even of her own name she was no longer sure, while it felt increasingly familiar to think of herself as Daenerys.

And what about the real Daenerys, she wondered? Was there even such a thing as a real one, and if yes, had she replaced her entirely? It didn't feel that way, for there were memories inside her that went far beyond what she had read about. Memories of a sad childhood… Daenerys's painful love for her only remaining brother Viserys, for example, felt shockingly real, even after his death. Her loneliness felt even worse. No, the real Daenerys was not gone, she was sure of it. She had only… changed. Merged. Evolved.

Did those thoughts make her mad? She wasn't sure.

But then again, there was no real point in asking such questions, was there? Not a single soul in this world would believe her if she tried to explain. And it wouldn't change things, anyway. She was here, she was Daenerys, and if she didn't act, she would go mad eventually. She would become the monster she had always tried to slay.

This Daenerys, whoever she was, would not go down that path. And if she had to swallow all her doubts and her questions in order to carve out a different life for herself, she would. Going to Vaes Dothrak would be the first step on this journey, she decided. Yes, her other life would have led her back here anyway, but there was no reason to delay the inevitable. The Dothraki would make her stronger, and the gods knew she desperately wanted to feel strong right now. It would come at a bloody price, she knew, but oddly enough, she found herself willing to pay that price.

Fire and Blood, she thought. Those words made a lot more sense when you were a Targaryen.

They received no warm welcome in Vaes Dothrak, but at least she was not brought back a hapless prisoner. Her dragons, however, seemed to unnerve the mighty khals, and before she knew it, they were put in a cage. Ser Jorah protested, as did her bloodriders, but threats were exchanged and Daenerys understood it was better to allow it to pass. Cage or no, it mattered not. Dragons could never be prisoners.

She knew what was to come, and she had told Jorah and her bloodriders of her plan. None of them had liked it very much – Jorah believed it impossibly dangerous, and the Dothraki were unsure of whether or not it was a sacrilege. However, she had managed to convince them by saying that no blood would be shed, as was custom in the holy city, and that, if her plan succeeded, she would have proven herself the strongest warrior among their number. The Dothraki followed strength, so they saw the point of her words.

"Fire is power," Rakharo agreed.

They brought her to the hut of the Dosh Khaleen, much as they would have a few years later. The great and mighty khals sat together, japing at her tiny pale form, telling each other about the ways they intended to fuck her if she refused to join the Dosh Khaleen. They also spoke about her dragons, those wondrous beasts in a cage they had put in the middle of the hut. Daenerys stood and listened.

"The Wise Masters of Yunkai would want her dragons," one of the men said.

"Meereen would pay as well. Ten thousand horses will be a good price," another agreed. "I say we keep her with the Dosh Khaleen and sell her monsters."

But Khal Moro was having none of it. "Fuck the masters in their perfumed asses. I'll take their horses for myself. And I will keep the monsters. They are mine now."

That was one boast too much for her. Daenerys had to speak, though she managed to keep her voice calm.

"Don't you wish to know what I think?" She asked.

Khal Moro raised a brow. "Would you rather be sold into slavery with your children? Or do you wish to show Ralko here what you taste like?"

"No. I don't want either of those things."

"We don't care what you want. This is the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. You have no voice here unless you are Dosh Khaleen. Which you are not until we decide you are."

Her green dragon shrieked. She began to walk around.

"I know where I am. I have been here before. This is where the Dosh Khaleen pronounced my child the Stallion Who Will Mount the World… but he is gone now. This is where Drogo promised to take his khalasar west to where the world ends. To ride wooden horses across the Black Salt Sea as no khal had done before. He promised to kill the men in their iron suits and tear down their stone houses. He swore to me before the Mother of Mountains."

"And you were dumb enough to believe him," Khal Moro laughed.

"I was," Daenerys agreed much to his surprise, stopping between her dragons' cage and a glowing brazier. "But I am not that girl anymore. My sun-and-stars is gone, but I am still here, as are my children."

As if they understood, all three of them produced a hissing sound.

"I see now that there will be no stallion to mount the world, but a mare, and she will mount dragons and take more lands than any khal before her. I will do myself what Drogo promised to me here. You are but little men, discussing what little villages you want to raid – you are not khals like Drogo. You are not fit to lead. But I am. So I will."

They looked at her in disbelief for a moment. Then they burst into laughter, loud and resounding, and they did not even notice that she did not falter. Her smile remained the same, and her dragons hissed even louder.

"Alright. No Dosh Khaleen for you – instead we will take turns fucking you, and then we will let our bloodriders too, and our horses next, if you are still alive," Khal Moro all but spat out as he rose to his feet. "You crazy cunt. You cannot hold an arakh, your beasts are caged, your mind is weak. Did you really think we would serve you?"

His words sounded like an angry curse, but Daenerys managed to stay calm. Eerily so. She felt neither worry nor remorse at what she was about to do. Her hand touched the metal of the burning brazier. Her dragons grew restless inside their cage, shrieking and hissing and intertwining all at once.

One or two of the khals seemed to notice something was off, but it was too late already. Daenerys knew Rakharo had kept his word and barred the doors.

"You are not going to serve. You are going to die," she then said and pushed over the brazier.

The hut went up like a torch within heartbeats. The men began to scream and tumble. Her dragons hissed, but it sounded like cheers now, as if they rejoiced in the havoc their mother was wreaking on their enemies. She pushed over another brazier, and another. Screams of death ran through the night.

Madness in his eyes, Moro came stumbling towards her. "Are you crazy? You will die here with us," he coughed with his last breath.

"Fire cannot harm the dragon," she replied, a different kind of madness in her own eyes. "Dracarys."

Her dragons' flames were small compared to the flaming inferno around them, but it was their first fire, and she felt pride seeing it engulf the attacking khal. As he fell to the ground, everything around them burst into bright fire. Her enemies melted away, as did her clothes, her fears – and her dragons' cage.

Nothing can enslave a dragon. Instead, the deaths of the khals would give life to the dragons they had sought to enslave. There was magic in death by fire, and wouldn't she of all people know it? As the hut collapsed around them, the night was filled with the joyful sounds of dragons feasting on the bodies of their slain foes, heralding the coming of a new age as their mother stepped out of the flames.

Thousands and thousands of faces watched her escape the fires unburnt. They saw her children unfold their wings, and for the first time, someone else but Daenerys understood the greatness they promised. They would be magnificent beasts one day, taming both earth and sky, and she was their mother, their leader, their khaleesi.

The Dothraki sank to their knees, one by one, until only Jorah and her bloodriders were left.

"Blood of my Blood," Rakharo yelled into the night. It was echoed by a thousand voices, and then ten thousand more.

A few days later, Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons and Khaleesi of all Khals, led the largest khalassar ever seen on the face of Essos out of Vaes Dothrak. Her path to victory had begun. One day, it would lead her back to Westeros, she was sure of it, but today was not that day. She would have to be more than she was now for the throne to be hers.

"You, Ser Jorah, must teach me how to fight. I cannot have fire be my only weapon. My ancestors wielded blades of deadly beauty, and I intend to do the same," she proclaimed as they rode out of Vaes Dothrak.

"Khaleesi?"

"What, do you think me hopeless?" She smirked at him.

"If the Andal refuses to teach you, khaleesi, we will give you an arakh and show you," Rakharo insisted, and her other bloodriders nodded emphatically.

"There is no need," Jorah's dark voice cut them short. "Khaleesi, I will do anything you ask, but you must understand that fighting practise is best begun during childhood. You might never be as good as a squire trained from an early age."

Daenerys nodded. "I understand. I might never be Aemon the Dragonknight or the Sword of the Morning, but I am willing to work hard. Perhaps I can be like Visenya."

"Visenya was good," Jorah returned in an unusually playful tone.

She looked at him and grinned darkly. "Then I must strive to be better. Rakharo, Aggo, Jhogo, let us ride together. Onwards!"

"Khaleesi, the world is yours. Where do we lead our khalassar?" Jhogo asked, riding beside her.

On her shoulder, the white dragon gulped down a piece of charred meat and shrieked happily.

Daenerys smiled. "To Astapor. If we are to conquer the world, Blood of my Blood, we will need more men. Far more."

AN: Next update on Sunday. Then, we'll return to the "present day" with our new Daenerys talking to Stannis at last. What are her plans? What is she up to? How will she deal with their rivalling claims? Feel free to let me know your guesses and ideas, I'd love to see what you think about it. Have a nice weekend!