She didn't know why she was awake. To be honest, when she had fallen asleep in the mountains of Skaggos, some part of her believed she'd never wake. She'd been tired and though she'd never admit it, she had been lonely. She questioned if her rider would ever be born.

She'd been born many years before. After listening to the humans of her old home, she figured that she'd been born in 153 BC. She'd never found a rider in her early years. While her sire and siblings all had riders, she had never felt a connection. She chafed against the horns and spells the Dragonlords had attempted to use against her. None had worked. After nearly 25 years of being chained in a basement, she'd broken out, tired of the weak little boys who constantly came to try to claim her.

She'd been small then, only 25 yards long when she'd flown across the seas to an island she eventually called home. There had been a stronghold then, a much smaller castle than the ones of her old cage, but barely inhabited. She'd been left alone for many years after that, only growing in size now that she was no longer chained below the ground. Still, she'd seen other dragons grow much faster than herself. She knew why, her rider had not yet been born.

It was been an odd realization. Most dragons had multiple riders, usually of the same bloodline as their hatcher. However, she had been born without a hatcher. She would grow more slowly so that she could still be alive when her rider was born. Dragons only usually lived to be 250-300 years old these days. At some point, they usually got too big to support themselves and too big to feed. It became difficult to breathe, much less fly or hunt. She blamed the Valyrians. Their sorcery and blood arts used to control them had warped their abilities to survive. The free dragons of old could live to be nearly 500 years old, if not older, and they could talk in human tongues. But, alas, the Valyrians had thought to control them, and in gaining that control they weakened the dragons to the pitiful things they were now.

Still, she lived as a free dragon, though they called her wild. She had spent most of her time sleeping and flying until they came in 114 BC. They were called the Targaryens and they came with 5 dragons. She found she couldn't hate her brethren and they didn't hate her either. She'd found their presence oddly comforting, as they explained why they stayed with their riders instead of fleeing now that the binding spells had weakened. The Targaryens had won their dragon's loyalties. She admired and craved it all at once.

So, she remained on Dragonstone for the years that came. The occasional child of Valyria would attempt to claim her, she warned the earlier ones with growls and screams. The ones idiotic enough to attempt to use horns or spells found themselves as her next meal.

She found the dragonlords and their families interesting to watch. There was a string of familiarity in their blood. She believed, no, she knew that her rider would come from this line somewhere in the future, but it was missing something. Another bloodline of magic. She put it out of her mind. She'd know her rider when they were born, and not until then.

She stayed in her fellow dragon's company, coming to know the smaller dragons as they were born. She had little patients with dragon babies and made her opinions clear when she chased them away. They were their sire's or rider's problem at their young age, she'd speak to them when they were older and wiser.

Soon, other wild dragons joined her on the island. They were named Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost. He avoided them. Sheepstealer overindulged in his eating, causing himself to become fat. He preferred the company of Grey Ghost, however, said dragon was often moping and it bought her mood down. His rider had died young before he could ever meet them, and no other dragonseed could ignite Grey Ghosts' spirit.

She mourned when Balerion died. Her oldest friend died far too young. Yet, the dragon had died happy. His Aegon had secured a kingdom with his help and had found a new home for his family. Balerion had even permitted her to feast when he died, to strengthen her magic so she might live to see her own rider. It was an old tradition, one from the free dragon days, to eat the dead so that their magic may continue onto the next generation. The Valyrians hadn't liked this practice and had forbidden it over the years, but there were no more Dragonlords to stop her. Balerion's magic had strengthened her, but it earned her a name she hated, Cannibal.

Over the following years, she would eat the dead dragons of Dragonstone, only those that gave their permission before their deaths, as well as the dead eggs. She'd never eat a live egg, but dead eggs still had a hit of magic to them, and leaving that magic to disappear would have been improper.

She earned a reputation as the years went by. More and more idiotic men came to her and attempt to mount her. She had less patience as it continued. She'd given years of warning and yet they still came to her. The ones that left quickly, who recognized her roars as dismissals lived, but those stupid enough to try to ride her meet their deaths quickly.

She had begun to consider hibernating when she felt the division start to grow. She watched as the Targaryen family split, as Balerion's last rider grew ill and started to die. Syrax and Caraxes started to distance themselves from Vhagar and Sunfyre. She understood the desire to avoid Sunfyre, the dragon was an annoyance of the highest order and constantly flaunted his bright scales in every dragon's face. However, Vhagar was more of a surprise, or it was until the War broke out.

She'd never been so disappointed in the Targaryens, and never so disappointed in her brethren. Oh, how Balerion would be turning over in his grave, knowing the family he loved would kill each other for simple greed. She felt the dragonlords die, felt her fellow dragons die, and all for the greed of a human with no Valyrian blood in their veins. If only her brethren had refused to fight, perhaps more of the bloodshed could have been avoided. She'd grown even more upset when Sunfyre came down and killed Grey Ghost, leaving his body half-eaten on the ground. She'd desired Sunfyre's death then, but Moondancer had gotten their first. Sheepstealer had finally found his rider and left Dragonstone, leaving her alone. Sheepstealer had been happy, however, and that had mattered more than her loneliness.

She'd left Dragonstone after the war had quieted, seeking refuge on an island in the North. There had been 20 dragons just a few short years before. Now there were only 4 dragons left in existence, and soon the others died as well. Sheepstealer died less than 3 years later with his rider somewhere in the Vale after being attacked. His rider had died with him. Silverwing died of old age, coming up to her in her later years so that she could use her strength after her death. Silverwing had always been one of her favorite dragons, after Balerion. She'd barely known Morning before she fled to the North, but she still felt they died at far too young an age. There had been no magic left for Morning to survive and grow with, and they had died after just 15 years of life. She had felt the last dragon being born, but even all the way up in the North, she had felt how sickly they had been. They died shortly after Morning, barely living a decade of life. They were never even gifted a name.

She'd been all alone after that and lonely. She decided to hibernate, her rider had yet to be born and she was already 300 years old. Perhaps her rider would never be born. It broke her, to think she might never know the feeling of having a bonded rider. For the first time in centuries, the magic was practically gone from the air and the dragons were dead to the world. The Targaryen family was broken and weak. So, she slept away on the island of stone. It was easier to sleep than to continue to watch the world fall apart.

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She cracks her eyes open. A layer of ice had formed over her scales. Snow had built up around her, forming an igloo of snow and ice. Her muscles ached and her joints creaked as she pushed herself up. The igloo collapses as she pushes her head up. She sniffs into the air, still as crisp and fresh as the day she first landed here. Something was different, there was magic in the air. More magic than she had felt in many, many years. She hadn't felt such magic since she'd been back in Valyria.

It was only after a few minutes of stretching that she realized what was different. There was a link in the back of her mind. A link that ended in the mind of a young boy. Her rider had been born.

She focused on the link. Her rider was young, too young, but more importantly, he was alive. She wanted to fly to him right then and there, but she couldn't. He was surrounded by other humans, she would not risk meeting him until he was alone. She was the last dragon in Westeros, in the world, and she and her rider would be hunted for their power. She would not risk his life before she ever got a chance to get to know him. Besides, her rider was too young. She knew little about humans, but she did know that they didn't ride their dragons until they reach a certain size and they definitely didn't ride dragons as big as her when they were young.

She'd have to wait, several years most likely, before venturing to her rider. However, for the first time in her life, she felt true hope and joy. Her rider existed and soon she'd meet him one day.

She flexed her wings, a flight would do her good. She would have to fly north, beyond their wall, to avoid the castles and their men. So fly north she did. The air was cold, oddly welcoming, as she flew beyond the tallest of Westeros' barriers. She flew for hours until something caught her eye.

To her immense surprise, she landed next to a dragon carcass. It was different than her deceased brethren. This dragon had been free its entire life and had managed to escape Old Valyria's grasping hands of control. It also lacked the fire magic she was used to, so perhaps that was why the Valyrians never came for them. The body still held magic, just like all dragon carcasses did, but it was not a fire dragon. Nonetheless, beggars couldn't be choosers. She devoured the remnants of the body, sending a silent prayer to the dragon for their gift. Their magic, while different, would help her grow and stay alive.

She continued on her flight later, finding more and more dragons over the next few years They all had the same different magic as the first dragon, and they were all frozen and still whole. Some had injuries, likely causes of death, but most were just huge and old, likely dying from old age.

It was odd, how as the years went on she found the cold less annoying. Soon, she had grown used to the wind and ice and snow. Soon, she grew to love it.

She also grew in a more physical sense. When she had woken up she had not been small. She'd been as big as Balerion had been at his death, as large as Vhagar in his last years. But, now, with her rider alive and dozens of dead dragons for her to feed upon, with magic being in the air, she grew exponentially. Her wings were nearly twice as big as before, and her body was almost 50% bigger. She felt truly powerful for the first time in her life.

She continued on her trek, moving from dragon carcass to dragon carcass as she felt her rider grow. After several years, around the time she was starting to grow restless, she felt another bond in her mind. It was a different bond than the one she shared with her rider. She felt it snap into reality the moment the little being was born into the world. She also felt, just a few mere hours later, as the little being met her rider. It appeared that she and this direwolf would have to share her rider. She should have hated the little thing, but somehow she couldn't. She had waited hundreds of years for this rider, she was willing to share him with the wolf. He could have their rider on the ground, she would have him in the sky. Besides, the little furball had mentally latched on her just as much as her rider, their rider. She could share with him, but only with him.

Just weeks later, she had finally felt her rider come towards her. She'd been excited, perhaps he felt her presence? She didn't care, he was away from large cities of people, she could go to him soon. The furball, named Ghost by their rider, had not been happy. He had explained it to her, their link having grown quickly and securely.

Her rider was being kicked out of his home, his nest. At four and ten, he was told he was no longer welcome where he grew up. Something about an angry cold trout with red hair? How fish could have hair, she didn't know, but she hated this red-headed trout from Ghost's stories. She knew little of the Night's Watch, but she knew of its reputation from her time on Dragonstone. It was a glorified penal colony filled with traitors, murderers, rapists, and thieves. Her rider would not be safe there.

Ghost had been lost, not knowing how to stop their rider. She was not lost in what to do. If she had to steal him from the top of that ice wall herself, she would not let him swear his vows. She would come for her ride and they would leave. All three of them.