Chapter 30: The Dragon Remembers

Dragonstone

Beyond the walls of her tent, Daenerys was vaguely aware of the sound of hooves, rhythmically echoing in the distance. Her khalasar, was celebrating; her son would rule them one day. Her son, Rhaego, "the stallion who mounts the world" would burn cities to the ground, and take back what belonged to them. This is what the crones had foretold. She hummed softly as she walked out of her tent. She wiggled her toes as the soles of her feet met the ground outside, and felt the warm sand slip between her toes. As she looked out across the clusters of people that sat before her, she inhaled a deep breath of the warm air. The air was alive with the smell of roasted meat and pungent spices. Across the camp a large fire burned in the firepit, and she could see her Khal. He was looking at her now, his almond eyes alight with the orange glow of the flames. He was sitting among his blood riders. Dany could hear as he talked, and laughed, and she felt a warm glow building within her as she heard the low gutteral sounds of his speech in the distance. The deep melodic laughter shared between him and his blood riders was punctuated by the sound of the bells that adorned his braid tinkling softly as he shook his head with laughter. He looked out towards her, and when he saw her approaching she thought that she saw the faintest glimmer of a smile touch his lips. His dark brown eyes shimmered in the moonlight, and his skin was slick with sweat from the heat of the flames. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Dany!" But that was not his voice. "Dany!" She felt strong hands caress her face. As she focused her eyes, she saw two deep grey eyes looking back at her. Jon Snow. Her head was aching. Jon was sitting at the corner of her bed. His eyes searched her face for something and she wasn't sure that she could give him whatever it was that he wanted.

"Dany," his voice sounded rough against her ears. He reached out to touch her face, and he smelled like leather. He knelt down on one knee, and began to stroke her face. He ran his fingers through her silvery hair, and she felt his fingers caressing her scalp and for a moment it seemed to ease the pain in her head.

"Dany, how are you feeling?" He said.

"My head aches," she said.

"You need to see a Maester. The best we've got right now is Sam. Would you let Sam examine you? You're not well enough to travel anywhere else."

"Yes," she said weakly. "How long have I been asleep?" She asked.

"You drifted away as we were talking to you. We were asking you what you remembered about the battle of King's Landing."

"I remember flying towards the Red Keep. That's the last thing that I remember. I remember the sound of bells."

"Burn them all." Dany heard a voice calling her. It was like a whisper, It sounded like it was beside her. She turned her head. There was no one there.

"Dany, what are you looking at?" Jon looked into the darkness.

"He doesn't understand," Dany thought.

"How could he?" The voice replied. Dany looked behind Jon, out into the dark room. But there was no one.

"Show yourself!" Dany shouted into the air. She could see the confusion in Jon's face, but she needed to know who was taunting her.

"Burn them all. You are the blood of the dragon. The dragon does not concern themselves with the wants of sheep."

"Show yourself!" She shouted into the dark of her room. But the fiend would not show themselves. She was a Queen. Who did they think they were? She would put a stop to this, she thought. Her heart drummed and she felt like she could hear it, and hear her blood, in her ears.

Burn.

Them.

All.

"Silence!" She screamed.

"Dany, you need to lie down. I will have a servant bring you up something to eat, and I'll ask Sam to bring you some dreamwine." Jon said. The firelight danced on his face, but his countenance was still and somber.

"That sounds good." Dany said, and she watched as Jon walked out into the corridor. She watched as his shadow receded, and his shape no longer flickered and danced along the walls of her room. She lay back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes searching the darkness of her room for the source of the voice.

In the corner of her room, she could see a face. The face looked like her own, pale and fine, with eyes like amethyst.

Burn.

Them.

All.

"Shut up!" She shouted into the dark, and she heard a cold, cruel laughter as sharp as crackling ice answer back..

"Burn them all." The voice hissed. It was almost like the voice was inside her head.

"Fire purifies all," the voice insisted. But she didn't know what that meant. She didn't want to. She would wait for Jon to return. She wouldn't listen to the voice, whatever it was. Jon needed to know what she remembered about the battle. She wanted to help him. She wanted to remember. She lay now on her pillow and watched the flames dancing in the candle that sat at her bedside. The flames calmed her.

King's Landing

If you told her that every hair on her head was covered in a fine mist of ash, Arya would have believed it. Her blood ran hot and thick down her face, and matted in her hair, and she could smell it on her, like death. The smell followed her as she walked along the cobbled streets. Dazed she watched as people shambled through the devastated streets looking for their loved ones. The sounds of mourning echoed in the distance behind her, a chorus of sobbing, weeping and anguished screams. In a burned out shell of a house, she saw r a small girl, crouched in a corner, her face frozen in fear. "Who was missing her? Who loved her? Children weren't meant to die like this," She thought..

The once busy streets of King's Landing were deathly still. The rows of shops, that had bustled with the activity of shopkeepers and smallfolk were barren and covered in thick layers of powdery ash and dust. There were clothes and trinkets and mountds of broken furniture piled all about the streets, the relics of life. "There is only one god, and his name is Death." Syrio Forel told Arya this when she was only a girl. As she walked through the debris, and watched the wind swirl with smoke and ash she could only sigh. Her tears mixed in with the ash and blood covering her face. She saw mothers weeping in the streets. She saw a man bloodied, naked stumbling wordlessly through the debris with haunted eyes, looking for something. She watched as the facades of buildings burned, buckled, crumbled and fell. The city was still burning. The Dragon Queen had won. Her chest ached from inhaling the debris, and her eyes stung both from the smoke, and from her tears. She had chosen wrong. She had left Sansa all alone. She had chosen vengeance over her family.

In the distance Arya saw a white horse. Its mane was speckled with blood, and it's white coat was dull and grey from the soot and ash that swirled in the wind. The horse had eyes the color of the bluest sky, just like Arya's mother. She walked towards it. As the horse heard Arya's footsteps approach, the mare shifted on her feet, and turned towards Arya, so that their eyes met.

Arya felt drawn to the horse, and she used every bit of her strength to make it to where the horse stood. She could almost touch her now. Arya began to walk forward. She had to get closer to her. Arya ignored the pain in her legs and hobbled towards the horse, with her hands outstretched. The horse looked at her, with its large blue eyes pointed straight towards her outstretched hand, and it's ears moving in furtive circles. She reached out a hand to touch the mare, and let out a sigh as the white mare bent her down head down to receive the touch.

"I won't hurt you girl," Arya whispered.

The horse stilled beneath her hand, and she patted it softly.

"We'll stick together. I need to go home." She petted the mare about her mane gently, and the horse lowered its head, tilting her long face towards Arya, to watch her with her quiet, clear blue eyes. Arya spoke softly, in almost a whisper as she lead the horse towards a half wall. She used the wall to prop herself up, and used what strength she had left to mount the horse, all the while speaking softly to it. She offered promises of safety. She offered promises of love and companionship. The horses breathing seemed to become calmer as she continued to talk to it. As she comforted the horse, she also comforted herself. She just kept telling herself that she was going home. She would make it back to Winterfell. She would make it back to Sansa. She had to. When she felt that she had a stable seat on the horse, she squeezed her thighs together and urged the horse towards a steady trot, setting her sights on Winterfell.