Thanks to all for reviewing especially Ramzes whose been one of the most loyal reviewers and Maddie Rose for beta-ing for me!

•Daenyre's POV•

She was up for the better part of the night, surrounded by maps and negotiating men. Awaiting dawn to prevail through the slit in the golden tent, Daenyre herself was present amongst them, voicing her own plans and ideas, but few were considered by the commanders who though they new best. Never had she felt so much like a pawn, like a figurehead.

One day they will respect me, not due due to my dragon nor my due to my bloodline, but to my ability to bring them out of exile.

Her eyes remained transfixed on the sky. So much has happened in this one night, and it is finally over.

'It seems clear to me that we do not need to pass the Red Waste if we are to reach Astapor, there is no accomplishment in tempering the sweltering heats and sands, the sea is undoubtedly far safer' remarked Ser Tristan Rivers, the sword master. His pale arms entangled in an affirmative manner. He was a true Blackwood with his short cut raven hair and his eyes strongly reminding the Blackfyre girl of her own.

He was one of the thousand men who found themselves in Essos as soon as the fancy of wealth and glory struck them. They are all fools believing they're entitled to something, and so am I.

'You appear as a true Blackfyre tonight' smiled the captain Myles Toyne, familiarity apparent in his gentle tone when they exited the council tent and began saddling their horses, tan Dothraki leather over the Westerosi-bred mounts. That much was true, she sported her house colours with pride, now that Daenerys had commissioned her a dress of heavy black damask, lined with red-gold satin that had all the majesty that she deserved.

'I'm a Dothraki now, and their horses never cross the poison water, but when they do I will take back my home land, you dear Cousin, belong there, across the Narrow Sea, where scripts and promises prevail over blood magic and prophesies. You and Viserys both belonged in Westeros, and now you must make this journey for yourself' Daenyre remembered Daenerys saying a few hours ago.

Her tiny birdboned figure clinging to Daenyre's tall and slender one, her eyes looking into hers with true understanding. She did not think much of that speech of hers, all she could understand was that this girl did not take her claim seriously, and just wanted another ally in Westeros. But perhaps this was just hatred clouding Daenyre's judgement.

'She must had been truly mad if she thought I was truly going to ally with the Beggar King' Daenyre said almost out loud

Her hair bound up like a silver crown with what bits of red fabric she could find, made her believe Ser Myles Toyne ever so much, that she was made for this. I enforce this vision, but I feel like a woman still in silent mourning, like a witch being dragged out to trail.

With a few more paces she distanced herself from everyone, as her gaze finally tore from her embroidered sleeves, she eyed the tall pole slender as death tipped with Valyrian Steel and about it the sixteen skulls of the commanders, each skull coated with Gold.

Its nature so brutal that she couldn't help but remember someone. She turned to beckon Ser Franklin forward, the softer one of these blood mercenaries, one whom would listen to any order given to him.

'I want a pyre set up for the late Prince Viserys' said Daenyre to her vassal, for the third time tonight.

'Why do you insist on it so much my queen' Ser Franklin Flowers asked in as brave a tone as he could muster, yet Daenyre couldn't help but notice him nervously fidgeting with his scabbard.

Good, they should feel fear when questioning a command, fear is an essential sentiment to be invoked, if one should rule securely. Wealth and fear and love as Queen Rhaella had once taught them.

'It has been the funeral right of the blood of the dragon from the time the Valyrians discovered dragons admist the skies Daenyre continued 'the time they stopped being peaceful shepards and became dragonlords, it is one of the oldest traditions, traditions are to be respected'

Daenyre sighed in annoyance, reasoning with subjects so hellbent on opposing any thing Targaryen was never going to be easy, commanding Viserys' body to be found and burnt would have angered certain members of the golden company which would have rather left it to the dogs, but Daenyre felt that it had to be done.

'Fire is pure, burning our dead's bodies is essential to ensure that they travel to the after-life in a pure form, otherwise the person in question could reappear and haunt us' explained Daenyre

Living in the free cities has made her respect the Rhllor teachings, the birth of her dragon made her devout. But Daenyre knew too well that her faith wasn't what compelled her to give Viserys this funeral right

'Burning him would show your subjects, that you sympathies the Reds' reasoned Ser Franklin

'Then do it with great discretion so none of them would know' answered Daenyre, frustration evident in her tone

'But...' Started Ser Franklin

'Now' commanded Daenyre refusing to hear any more

'As you command' sighed Ser Franklin as he left looking for the body, he was in no position to defy a temperamental woman and her dragon

Daenyre shook her head in annoyance, it seemed impossible for her to envision keeping ten thousand men in check, if she felt she had to justify herself after every command.

She then stretched her neck as high as she could and called the one creature the one thing that have her strength to stay alive.

'Venuse!' Roared Daenyre beckoning Rhaenyras to land to give her one last check before she could feel that she was in a state well enough to fly, besides she needs her to ignite the body

Without her I'm nothing. She witnessed her dragon gracefully land, now well past the size of even the grandest Dothraki tent.

'My queen' said Ser Franklin returning from his search 'the body is nowhere to be found'

It did not make sense but Daenyre still believed him

'Never mind, gather the others and ensure we have all our supplies with us' Daenyre commanded 'if we are to cross the red waste we shall do it unscathed, I shall not risk the deaths of my cavalry to the sands'

'Very well your grace' Ser Franklin obeyed, his eyes gleaming like two gold marbles admist the fat of his face, like plums in a pie, happy that they are finally marching forwards instead of wasting any more precious time in Vaes Dothrak.

Daenyre turned to her dragon, her eyes showing disbelief and devotion, to the dragon's sapphire blue ones, it had been three years and she still couldn't believe it was real, with every passing day she felt herself slowly slip into insanity as she saw everything around her change, yet one thing remained constant: the she-dragon.

Her eyes then drifted to her wrists, the scars still clearly there even after all those years, it was like they were there to remind her how vulnerable she once was. An image of a dark haired girl in a simple grey kraken emblazoned dress clutching an egg once again crossed her mind. A girl who refused to be taken as a hostage once again.

'I am scared' whispered Daenyre to Rhaenyras as she stroked her warm scales, quietly enough for none of the Golden Company surrounding her to hear. Remembering her days as Aurora Sand, 'until my lethal attempt to hatch you proved a success' at that Rhaenyras' clenched jaws relaxed.

She smiled as if she knew that her dragon could understand her, perhaps it did.

• At the edge of the Dothraki Sea•

All his hopes seemed to dissolve and rise with the torrid heat as despite all his will his body could barely budge. As the young man tried to rouse himself from this position that could only ensure that he would be carcass for the vultures. He tried to reflect back on his past life, a life of promise and prestige which was promised to him and then shattered all the same.

The sun's rays were scalding what remained of his beautiful fair skin and the sand beneath him boiled him in his scarlet silk, he was numb to most of it but he felt the pain strongly enough to induce tears in his pale eyes. He never wanted to die as much as he had now, as he felt a pang of sadness build up in his throat he started hating himself for the state he is in, this can't be what I was meant for he though. He wanted to die.

With the last strength he had he pushed himself up and slumped on his slender back, his golden head clanging as it hit the ground at high force. 'If those are my last minutes I shall spend them with my face up so I may see the sky before I die' he calmly thought

He store up at the bright azure sky as icy as the sky in Winter and all of a sudden he saw the specks of sand dance about the air as gracefully as the lace details on a wife's wedding veil.

And all of a sudden everything seemed to slow down as the view above him reminded him of something pure, graceful and innocent. Winter.

He was very young 4 years or so when Winter ended and his thoughts weren't with the small folk, he did not pity them for having to live in harsh conditions without any food and threadbare rags he could not care less about the harvest as a king would but he didn't expect to ever have to become one.

He suddenly remembered when he was a young prince and the world was painted in white, greys and blues all over 'shades of nostalgia' he thought.

As he could now vividly see the snowflakes tumble and fall onto the ground on his equally silvery hair melting on his eyelashes, he could still hear the coughs of Queen Rhaella as she was recovering after the miscarriage of Princess Shaena.

Rhaenys and Daenyre were there too laughing gently as the snow coveted them completely bit by bit until the two of them could no longer be told apart. A true picture of innocence a girl that looked as Dornish as they came with long dark hair, and tawney skin laughing and staring up at the sky, while the other was as white and pure as the winter around her, regal yet childish, her fine greyish-sandy blonde hair carelessly flowing in the winter wind as she spun around and around the field until she felt so dizzy she fell.

But this was not Westeros, he would never return to Westeros, he would never see Westeros. All he would see for the past minute was the blue sky and the beads of sand drifting past until he would reach his imminent rest.

As more tears welled up in his eyes a massive violaceous creature sped past, as magnificent and graceful as a song. It's wings beating so hard that it sent a cold ghast of wind his way as it went past. He felt madder than ever as he tried to pull himself up.

He managed to no avail, so he resumed crawling, and shoving his way through the dirt, it was all he could to escape Vaes Dothrak, where they all hopefully thought that his body was eaten by dogs. 'Dothraki fools' spat the young man, but his mouth dried up, all moisture from his body left him and he felt like a dried up prune. So this is how death feels like. He remembered that just a day ago he was in his own tent; tipsy, joyful and dizzy as the wine clouded his judgement. He was on his feet and with a smile on his face, facing no other but Daenyre herself. 'I shouldn't have gone' he thought annoyingly

To his annoyance the dragon flew past not noticing him but he couldn't help but think One day, I will rise back and burn every last man in this god-forsaken savage town, all 40,000 of them and their horses too. Daenerys will be the first of them, I'll have that traitor dog Mormont with her it would make for a good joke Viserys Targaryen thought a smile curling his chapped lips. I am flesh-made fire I will not rest until my golden head is the last thing my enemies see.

I've survived a golden crown, I can survive a desert's heat