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305 ac
Dragonstone
It comes and it goes. It comes and it goes. Shadows and light. Beyond the darkness, there are images that cannot be put down to die. Memories, perhaps. She's not sure; of her mind, she's not sure anymore. Whispers. Voices. Shouts. The dragon's roar.
"Your Grace?"
Dany lands back. Dragonstone. The chamber of the Painted Table. Aegon's War Room. House Targaryen's doom.
"Someone has betrayed me," she says, as she knows, and doesn't bother to open her eyes. "Jon Snow."
"Varys," Tyrion quickly corrects.
She sighs and turns slowly around. "He knows who Jon is. And he knows because you told him. And you know because Jon told Sansa, and Sansa told you."
Her Hand makes excuses as he's always done. Tries to save Sansa as he has tried to save Cersei, as he will try to save his traitor brother.
She committed a mistake with Tyrion...and with the Starks.
With Westeros.
As if to echo her thoughts, Tyrion says good intentions don't matter anymore.
"No," Dany smiles, a gesture devoid of meaning. "It doesn't matter anymore."
***
130 ac
Dragonstone
It comes and goes. Images that she cannot hold in her mind long enough to make sense of. Maybe one of her sweet boys. Jace. Luke. Joffrey. Viserys.
No.
It's her daughter.
Visenya.
She burned here too. Exactly here, where Aegon's guards take her.
He looks like their father, when their father had become a walking corpse. Before that, he was a comely young man, with Alicent's features.
Crippled, disfigured, cockless as she was told...he sits upon a wooden throne: a chair made for those who can no longer use their legs.
He's embittered. "Are you afraid?"
Is it perhaps the first time he's ever spoken directly to her? Rhaenyra wonders now if she has ever done the same.
Rhaenyra was afraid to die when she lost Visenya.
She was sad when she lost Luke.
When Jace was gone...she became a husk.
Viserys. Joffrey.
She's mad now.
"Are you afraid?" she returns to her half-brother, Alicent's son.
He's enraged now. Shouting names at her, calling her a whore, a witch, a tyrant. Mocking her, desperate for those around him to join him.
She realizes there's something sad about Aegon.
Wonders if...she should have done more.
He brings Alicent, and Alicent holds her son in the grip of a mother. And he is just a child. He can't understand, so he cries.
"I want you to see this, Mother. Don't dare to take your eyes away or the boy will follow," he threatens her. His own mother.
Rhaenyra shudders. Her sweet boy stretches out his arm and cries for "Mama."
She meets eyes with Alicent and sees a glimpse of the woman Alicent once was. The friend she was once.
Her mouth pleads a silent "I'm sorry." But Rhaenyra doesn't think they ever stood a chance once they became pieces on a board. If anything, believing there was a way to solve things without bloodshed shed more blood than anything.
Well, they played long enough. A son for a son until both of them were left with only one son each.
Her half-brother summons his beast. Broken like himself, just a shattered piece of a once beautiful creature. Nyra remembers she chose that wonderful golden-scaled egg for Baelon, who lived only one day.
These a re the things that you don't know until you know.
Sunfyre drags himself, painfully...he lacks a wing. Rhaenyra hopes the beast is put to rest when it's done. There's nothing crueler than what happened to their dragons in the pit...
"Dracarys, Sunfyre," Aegon commands.
But Sunfyre only screeches.
"Dracarys!" he screams again.
The dragon cries out in pain. He's suffering.
"Aegon..."
"Shut up! Shut up and see!" Alicent's son berates his mother. He turns a monstrous face toward his dragon again. "Burn her, Sunfyre. Feast on her!"
Sunfyre lets out a low purring sound and lets his heavy, broken neck flop on the earth, almost crushing his own rider.
He's tired.
Rhaenyra... understands.
"Naejot māzīs, Sunfyre," she commands the broken beast.
He lifts his head and watches her.
Aegon is startled.
The breaths of everyone are caught.
Rhaenyra looks over at her half-brother.
"You must..." Rhaenyra's voice catches. "Dohaerās."
He only understands when Sunfyre sniffs Rhaenyra. His hot breath blows upon her.
"D-Do- aheras," Aegon stutters.
"Doha-erās," Rhaenyra repeats, slowly.
She remembers then.
"Rha-nee-rah!" he tried to spell it. But it was wrong. Again. "Rha-nee-reh!"
Nyra chuckled softly, brought him to her lap, and looked into his childish features, so similar to that of her once best friend but with her coloring.
"Rhae-nee-rah," she taught him.
"Nyra!" Aegon shouted, bringing laughter to all those within the carriage.
But that never happened.
It was one of those moments one wishes could have been something different.
Aegon was looking at her, perhaps with the same thought.
But it was too late now.
Blood has been spilled. Bloodlines ended. Cities burned. Children are dead.
"Dohaerās, Sunfyre," Aegon gets it right this time. His beast listens to him.
"Aegon, no!" Alicent cries, her cries mingling with those of Aegon, Nyra's child.
Sunfyre's eyes take on a light of life.
"Dr-" Aegon hesitates. Just for the slightest second, he sees what Rhaenyra has seen: the futility of it all. "Dracarys."
In the back of Sunfyre's gullet, in a matter of seconds, Rhaenyra sees her Visenya.
She's sad, as well.
Grieving.
She knows now what Rhaenyra has learned.
"To my daughter I will say, when the men come, set yourself on fire."
***
305 ac
King's Landing
"Is the Queen there?" Jon asked him.
Tyrion was exiting what he presumed to be the royal chambers. It was hard to tell; the Red Keep was as vast as Dragonstone and equally unknown to him.
"She is waiting for you, my Lord," the Hand responded, his countenance and tone grave.
Though the city had been successfully taken without further bloodshed, no effort was enough to save his treacherous sister.
That was something both men had in common.
Jon sucked in a breath and walked past him. Although the two had agreed to some extent on the course of things, a certain chasm lay open between them.
He should have approached Jon first with the truth that Sansa had revealed, rather than going straight to Lord Varys. If Sansa had given the weapon to Tyrion, Tyrion had wielded it — or more precisely, handed it to someone who would use it.
Lord Varys now lay as a heap of ashes. His malice, however...
Jon entered the chambers, hardly illuminated by the fires burning in the corners. The smell of burnt and charred flesh was hard to forget. It reminded him that not so long ago, they were burning their dead on the funeral pyres after the battle against the dead. And yet, that already seemed like another life.
Daenerys walked forward from the bedchamber, and this was the first time he saw her since the battle ended.
Her gaze met his before blinking away and standing restlessly apart from him. Jon couldn't blame her for distrusting him, but still, it hurt.
Like the soldier he still was, he folded his hands behind his back and gave her a detailed report on the state of the armies.
"Were many lives lost in the crossfire?" she asked, avoiding his gaze as if ashamed to admit that the fire came only from one side. It was impossible to determine that from the heights.
"We all know the risks, Your Grace," he responded succinctly. He still tried to reassure her with a lingering gaze, but she would not look at him. It started to rub him the wrong way. "This was as clean as it was possible, Dany. The Realm will know that," he insisted.
It seemed that the use of her name in that way finally awakened something in her that made her meet his gaze.
"What difference does it make? They'll say I'm a usurper. That's what the realm will know," she said. "And it's because of you."
I don't want it. Jon almost said it, but he bit it back. It hadn't mattered before; it wouldn't matter now.
"I told you she would betray you — betray me," Daenerys sneered. "And look what she has gained with it."
"What you say will be done, not what Sansa intends," Jon attempted, but even to his ears it sounded futile. "What power does she have over you? You have the armies on your side. The North fought for you. The Vale fought for you. Your own men. The dragons. I fought for you," he insisted.
Daenerys snorted in disdain. "Men thirsty for blood and vengeance who came here to satiate themselves. How long will their loyalty last now that they know they can fight for the man who brought them here? The rightful heir?"
The last words were leveled with mocking intent.
"You sound paranoid," he murmured.
She remained silent, with her vacant stare set on him.
"You knew..." Her voice caught, as if realization had struck. Her hands moved and rested over her flat stomach. "You knew what I was. What the truth would do to us." She gave him a small, cold smile. "I can't trust you," she said.
Although Jon guessed that — knew that — it was like a blade to his guts to be doubted like that when he had never meant to stand here in this chasm.
"I know you can't," he retorted, and it felt like somehow returning the blow.
She turned her back on him. "It doesn't matter now. It never mattered. I have seen it."
"What have you seen?"
Jon felt his skin crawl. The dragon's breath on his back.
But alas, she didn't trust him anymore. So the answer came when she set herself on fire.
***
Proclamation of Succession,
To all the lords and ladies of Westeros, and to all the smallfolk who dwell within its bounds,
Know you all that I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, having been informed of the true lineage and heritage of Jon Snow, now known to be Aegon Targaryen, legitimate son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the Lady Lyanna Stark, hereby renounce my claim to the Iron Throne.
I, Daenerys Targaryen, acknowledging the ancient and noble blood that flows through his veins, and recognizing the rightful heir to the legacy of my house, do declare the following:
I. That Aegon Targaryen, known heretofore as Jon Snow, is the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, my beloved brother, and the Lady Lyanna Stark.
II. That Aegon Targaryen is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the legitimate King of the Seven Kingdoms.
III. That henceforth, I, Daenerys Targaryen, renounce all claims and titles to the Iron Throne in favor of Aegon Targaryen.
IV. That all my loyal subjects, allies, and supporters are hereby called upon to bend the knee and pledge their fealty to King Aegon Targaryen, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
In this proclamation, I seek not to diminish my own efforts and sacrifices, but to honor the truth and the rightful succession in accordance to all laws and customs known by the Realm of Men.
It is my belief that in unity, we shall bring peace and prosperity to the realm and forge a future where justice and honor prevail.
May the realm thrive under the leadership of King Aegon Targaryen, and may the legacy of House Targaryen continue to shine brightly in the annals of history.
Witness my hand and seal this day,
Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.
The Mother of Dragons.
***
Dragonstone
The bells toll, their ringing echoing all the way from King's Landing. It is a coronation, a time of celebration.
She is packing her few belongings into a trunk, only the gods know to what destiny. She doesn't want to return to Meereen.
Perhaps one day, but not today.
"What do we do now?" Dany sat by the edge of the bed and spoke to Grey Worm, who stood by the door, ever stoic, now more than ever. "Is there a place you wish to go?"
"Naath," he quickly responded.
Dany's eyes welled with tears. "I wish the same, but we cannot."
Deathly butterflies. Perhaps it was his intention all along, but she wishes to show him a different course.
"There are still battles to be fought, for those who choose to fight. Noble causes. Evil men whose heads must be cut off," Dany said. "And there are still places to see. We have the rare gift of freedom."
The burden is lifted. It belongs to another now.
Dany wonders if the women in her memories wished for something similar.
To just run away.
"I'd like that," Grey Worm answered.
It's all she needs to hear.
***
308 ac
Ruins of Valyria
Drogon detoured from their normal route and took her to the ruins of the former freehold. Daenerys felt a sting of fear, remembering stories about a young princess and the misfortune she suffered when the Black Dread took her to the same place.
The Smoking Sea blocked any clear view, making it hard to perceive where they stood until Drogon guided them inside the remains of a palace on a hill.
On the first day, she wandered the ruined architecture, finding pieces of great value here and there. Not that she would take them with her; everyone knew how cursed this place was. Daenerys began to think that she might never leave.
On the second and third days, she dared to explore the surroundings and share Drogon's charred remains of a game of unknown nature. The other option was dying inside the castle from starvation.
When she approached the Smoking Sea to clean herself, she cut her leg on a sharp rock beside the coastline, spilling blood into the stream.
By the fifth day, Daenerys encountered the Stone Men, who tried to get her but ended up in a firestorm. What was left of them knelt before her.
Her own kingdom of Stone Men, she mockingly thought to herself.
On the seventh day, she convinced Drogon to fly home, but something stopped her. Daenerys was certain that voices spoke to her at various moments during her stay, but this time was different; they weren't inviting her to explore beyond the cursed ruins.
This time, she heard a song.
It came from a cave.
Big enough for her son to enter, and Dany to follow him.
The song grew loud and beautiful and called to her.
Loud and clear.