Laying on the cold throne room, with her consciousness drifting in and out, the cries of her lover…murderer falls to deaths ear. A collection of white flakes fall daintily on her face, kissing her with their cold lips.
The ache of the dagger inside her heart is nothing compared to the fire raging inside her. A raging storm in her soul clinging to life, desperate not to die. She has a destiny to fulfill. It's not her time.
When she noticed everyone giving her horribly hidden looks, the kind that said what 'now, about this issue?' Like she didn't just save them.
She likes to think she doesn't care for others' opinions, but when people treat you like the enemy, like some outcast, even after sacrificing so much for them, everyone, it eats you.
She remembers the looks, the way they praised Jon for riding a Dragon, yet…she wasn't use to people ignoring her deeds, she can admit that she got a sense of being, whenever someone would praise her. She truly just wanted the world a better place. A place where little girls can play in front of red doors, without the fear of death, starving….
She knew, and knows it's wishful thinking
'but if no one tries, who will?'
''How did it come to this? I was going to, all I wanted was too…'she wonders as her vision blurred.
All she recalls is being so consumed by her own emotions, from losing so much precious to her, Viserion, Rhaegal, her Khala-her blood brothers and sisters. The catalyst was Messandei.
When her head hit the ground, Daenerys whole world tilted, she went numb as her best friend, who she wanted to give the world, died…in chains. She'll never get that image out of her head.
Climbing on top of Drogon, gazing at Red Keep housing the Lion's Cunt, the desire to kill Cersei clouded her vision, the haze of all her rage, her grief, the urge to make her…them pay.
Drogon taking off was the last thing she remembers, before she could blink the city was on fire and the Red Keep was destroyed.
During it all she felt like she was just along for the ride, like she was being influenced. she did this, she knows, but she never felt such an intense rage before. A madness inducing rage.
It was like they were one, her and Drogon. She felt inhuman, an uncontrollable rage fueling her, combined with the euphoric feeling power, of finally letting out all her pent up rage.
she allowed herself to be consumed.
Her mind is drawn to Ser Barristan. Would he say she's just like her father? Would he understand that she, like any human, has a breaking point?
She's not saying she's innocent, but everyone does and is capable of terrible things in the fit of rage, kings kill all the time.
Why is it whenever, she acts on her rage like any man would-
'That's it.' She realizes as her mind wanes into oblivion.
''Men can't accept women are just the same as them'
Her final moments are an intense heat and the singing roar of her child.
——-
The shadow inside the tent encasing the checkered masked woman are ominous, as she stares at a flame in the small jeweled bowl, made from a meager amount of kindling.
The fiery hues glide across gold edgings on the bowl, causing the beautiful metal to shift between its natural tone to brass when the light flicks away, her barely tangible, but strong voice carries throughout the simple shelter, her powerful presence enhanced as she chants in High Valyrian.
The simple, but intricate spell allows her to harness the raw magic in the air. As her voice raises the ambient magic drastically starts building in the tent causing a warm sensation to traverse throughout before plummeting.
She thinks she has failed, as the flame dwindles into a kindle. giving one last push in her soul she chants it all her might. 'There', she thinks, feeling it in her bones, in her blood that something happened to the little Mother of Dragons, as though answering her thought the kindling spontaneously combusts into a roaring fire, unnatural in its capacity. The great flame reaches above her as it roars with vitality.
Inside the flickering shadows inside the beautiful show in front of her. Her mind distantly marveling at the intense heat caused by the flames of her god. The shape of a creature flying comes to fruition. She inhales in shock as she sees a limp figure flickering in the claws of the great beast, the white of the flames cascading around the figure like hair.
'Danny' The informal name slipping from her thoughts as the truth of the situation comes to light. Letting the flame die out, sending a silent thank you to her god, she stands while grabbing a candle, dark red.
She holds it in front of her as she stands inside the circle of salt she previously prepared for the scrying.
Reaching into her pouch hidden on her person, she pulls out a small lock of silver gold hair.
Wrapping the lock of hair around the candle, she then takes a tiny dragon's glass knife, and slits her thumb, deep enough to draw a consistent amount of blood.
The words she speaks sound foreign, as an ancient lost version of Valyrian is spoken. Praying to the red god that the beast doesn't fight her, as she connects to the great creature's mind.
If she's to save, who she feels is the Princess who is promised.
She can't let the chance she'll die stop her.
The feeling of intense pressure pools into her as the connection to the dragon takes root.
She stops chanting.
Her body going limp, slumped bf into the ground in the center of the ritual circle. her eyes roll until the whites are only seen, her body starts to convulse as the Power of the Dragon invades her unaccustomed body is struggling to handle.
Feeling pure magic connecting to her with a ferocity, that's incomprehensible. She almost taste the great beast's power, though young they have a tremendous presence.
The almost divine creature's aura destroys her mental barrier like child's play, judging her worth. The scream that escapes her throat is inhuman. The being seems to not care if they push her mind beyond its limit.
The sheer force of the beast recedes as the being finds what they're looking for. With the imprint, with the promise of death, if she fails, is the only thing that causes her not to faint from pure exhaustion. She has a lot to prepare for if she's to revive the Queen.
Pulling herself up she faintly realizes she's gained an audience the present company experienced, knowing not to interfere no matter the price the person is taking.
While exiting the room all miss the flicker of the dragon glass candle as it fluctuates before sniffing out.