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Viserys held the shimmering lilac gown up for her inspection, saying, "This is beauty. This is elegance. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric."
Dany touched it with a small trembling hand. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water, resisting her touch. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft, so expensive. She pulled her hand away, biting her lip before asking, "Is it really mine?"
Aurea was a strange place. Located within the Kingdom of Sarnor, it had only be spared the devastation of the Century of Blood through its place cradled within the thick mountain range where the Dothraki could not reach. Only the fellow city of Saath had escaped the same fate, otherwise all six others had been destroyed by the horselords. The mountains had been ringed by such thick, ever-presence clouds that Dany could not even seen an arms length before her and it was only due to their Aurean guide they had not gotten lost in the numerous mountain passes.
Even if Dany could occasionally see bones of some would-be raider or treasure hunter, who had gotten lost upon the mountain and could not escape back down. At one point they passed an entryway guarded by two giant stone dragons, carved from the mountain itself. Once they passed the two watchers the fog finally began to ebb even as a horn sounded in the distance.
Within the raised peaks as they traveled, Daenerys had watched as the jagged landscape had slowly dipped and flowed down into a gigantic valley clutched in the belly of the crater, to show a hidden kingdom of lush fertile land and gleaming rivers with great forests of emerald trees and wide orchards. She had been in awe within the wheel-house that Maester Illyrio had traveled them in, staring out the window wide-eyed until Viserys dug his nails into her arm and hissed for her to stop gawking like a commoner.
Now they were within the huge ornate castle of the royal family of the Kingdom of Aurea, in preparation for her marriage to the crown prince.
"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said in satisfied tones, "The hue will bring out the violet of your eyes, paired with your silver hair. You will be adorned in more gold and precious jewels for the ceremony. Magister Illyrio promised. You will look the part of a princess this day."
A princess.
Daenerys could not remember ever feeling like a princess. All she could remember in her thirteen years of living was fear and hunger and tension. Even with the last year when Magister Illyrio had taken them under his wing, and even prepared the great journey around the north of Essos from Pentos to Saath, she still felt tense and unsure.
"He knows I will not forget these gifts," her brother was rambling, violet eyes feverish and narrow face flushed. "When I retake the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms I will reward him beyond imagination. I do not forget my friends."
Dany said nothing, keeping her eyes downcast. She had long since learned voicing anything against her brother's words, it would only lead to 'waking the dragon'.
Viserys put the gown aside, saying to her, "Illyrio will send his slaves to bathe you and prepare for the ceremonial dinner. Be sure you wash off the stink of our long travel."
Her brother looked her up and down, eyes lingering upon her small chest, before his finger dug into her shoulders, "You still slouch. Cease that, straighten yourself up. Let them see you have a woman's shape now."
He leaned in close, hands moving to her hair and caressing it in a gentle motion that didn't fit with his twisted expression. Daenerys said nothing.
"You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?" He hissed, teeth nearly nipping her ear, "Do you?" he repeated.
"No," Dany said meekly.
Her brother smiled, anger vanishing as quickly as the wind. "Good." He touched her shoulder again, almost with affection. "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight."
When he left Daenerys went to the balcony, the guest chambers high in the castle so the window gazed out across the lush landscape. She had never been in such a high tower before. In the distance at the back of the castle she could see the mountains, rising so high they faded into the sky. When she looked down all she could see was the polished white marble and gold of the castle, elaborate vines and flowers growing across the tiled roofs and entwining across railing and windows with their colourful stained glass.
She would be princess of Aurea, but that was not her home. Her home was far, far away. Across the broad swathe of Essos and across the Narrow Sea, to where a great twisted throne of swords awaited. Westeros.
That was her brother's kingdom, and her marriage to the prince of Aurea would help Viserys become king. A political marriage.
The servants entering broke Dany from her brooding and they escorted her to the awaiting tub with its steaming water. She was then scrubbed down in fragrant oils, hair washed and combed until it flowed like silver. Through it all she remained silent, dreading her coming wedding. She had not even met Prince Henry, whom was her betrothed. The dinner would be the first time she would see him and then the following morn it would be their wedding. Instead all negotiations had gone through the magister and her brother. She had not even know someone had asked for her hand until it had already been given.
When she was cleaned, Dany was toweled dry and then robed in the shimmering lilac gown. Her hair gleamed silver as the servants brushed and braided it, affixing tiny jeweled hairpins laden with pearls upon the coiled tresses. Gilded sandals were for her feet, with silver bracelets at her wrist, an amethyst upon a silver chain at her throat and more gems for her fingers.
The servants praised her, citing how she now truly looked like a princess. Daenerys looked in the mirror and just saw a small, frightened girl.
Daenerys Targaryen wed Prince Henry with great splendor before the ancient castle of Aurea.
Dany clung to the notion that Prince Henry was kind; their dinner the previous night had been with Dany sitting stiff in her seat, a smile affixed to her face as she tried to be diplomatic and engaging like any noble woman. If Prince Henry noted her unsure and stumbling demeanor he was polite enough to not mention it and as the meal had gone through its twelve courses Daenerys had begun to relax. Prince Henry had been thoughtful, doing his best to coax her into conversation and been eager to wed her as he told Daenerys she was kind and wise. She felt he would be a grand king when he ascended the throne and a gentle husband to her. The fear that had been building in her stomach like bile ever since she had been informed of her betrothed had started to ebb as the night wore on, and when she slept it had been filled with dragons.
That was something she noted while in the castle; dragons were a popular choice. Sculptures and statues, paintings and tapestries of dragons burning and slaughtering. Daenerys had wondered why the kingdom of Aurea had offered the match when House Targaryen had nothing, only two orphans left behind. They had no hold, no riches, no dragons, no kingdom- so why such a rich kingdom would want with her baffled Daenerys. But after visiting the castle and now being dressed for her wedding, she felt perhaps the king and queen wished to bring back dragonlord blood into their kingdom. She did not know the full history of Aurea but with how prominent dragons were she felt they had Valyrian ties and wished to further that despite none in Aurea having silver hair or purple eyes as she could see. Aiding the Targaryens in taking Westeros would also grant them the Seven Kingdoms, if not only through Viserys as king and good-brother to the future king of Aurea.
The wedding dress was immense, with so many layers Dany felt like a cake. The underclothes were all various shades of crimson while the outer wedding gown was of thick rich white-and-golds, studded with pearls and elaborate lacing. The necklace, rings and pendents were all rubies of various shades of crimson, while a white veil covered most of her silvery hair. When the servants were done, the queen of Aurea entered the room.
Queen Isabella was a beautiful woman, with hair the colour of summer wheat and her expression stern. She looked every inch a ruler, a woman who never doubted herself.
Despite that, her stern features relaxed as she looked over Daenerys, saying in approval as to how beautiful a bride she was which made Dany flustered. The queen herself escorted Dany to the great inner courtyard of the palace, where the wedding ceremony would take place. As they walked, the queen's arm gently yet firmly linked through hers, Queen Isabella calmly spoke to Dany about how the ceremony would proceed.
"There will be feasting for days but the wedding ceremony itself is quite simple," the queen explained. "You will approach the holy priest and stand before him. He will speak the words of bonding and then you will exchange rings with my son. He will go first, placing the marriage ring upon your fourth finger. And then you will place the offered ring upon his fourth finger."
Dany nodded, now understanding why the fourth finger upon her left hand had been left free of rings.
"Then you will kiss at the prompting of the priest, showing your submission to marriage before the ceremony and all those attending."
Daenerys hesitated, even as they continued down the lavish hall to the courtyard where she could hear distant voices, before asking, "And then there will be a bedding ceremony?"
Queen Isabella gave a very unlady-like snort, which nearly made Dany stumble, "No. Your Magister explained that barbaric custom but we do not practice it here in Aurea. And myself and my husband are hardly due for the grave, we do not expect grandchildren quite so soon."
Both the words and the queen's friendly demeanor felt Daenerys relax, even if she still felt the nervousness of the impending ceremony. But her fear was slowly churning aside for excitement and hope. Maybe Aurea really would be her home. She could be safe here.
"However," the queen continued. "There will be a more private ceremony due at dusk, at the historic temple within the mountain. However that is for the noble families and the royalty only. It is an old custom more than anything, nothing to fret over."
The queen left her side as they came to the great courtyard where Viserys was awaiting with Magister Illyrio. Her brother was wearing a black tunic with a crimson dragon at the breast, in sharp contrast to her white and golds. Since she was without parents or sovereign, her brother led her through the great stone archway into the courtyard. It was decorated in warm tones, golds and oranges and browns, with huge bushels of crimson roses that kept the air sweet. An orange carpet was laid across the white marble, leading up to the heart of the courtyard where a pavilion sat. A man in white robes awaited and half way down was Prince Henry, clad in rich dark blues that matched his eyes.
Her brother had told her to smile, and so Dany did as she walked forward. Viserys passed her over to Henry, who then escorted her up to the pavilion where the priest awaited. Prince Henry's grip was gentle upon her hand.
Per instructions Dany listened as the priest spoke the long vows of marriage and when a young girl stepped forward with two gleaming rings upon a cushion Prince Henry took the nearest one and slid it upon her bare finger. She then returned the favour, terrified she would drop the ring in front of the watching masses. Instead it fit perfectly and when the priest bade them to kiss, to seal the ceremony, Prince Henry gave her a quick firm peck upon the lips before shifting back and giving her a bright smile that made her blush.
Then the queen approached them, satisfaction bright within her gaze.
The tiara Queen Isabella laid upon Dany's brow was of gold, with a dragon with flared wings forming most of the crown. The queen stepped to the side, announcing to the crowd, "I present my son Prince Henry, and my new daughter Daenerys, princess of Aurea."
Daenerys woke up in a pit.
She was lying upon thick moss-covered roots, skeletal trees clinging doggedly to the sides of the cavern. Dany shifted, grunting as pain radiated through her back and across her skull. Her hair was damp from the moisture of the cave and blood from her cuts.
High above she could see the distant form of the stone bridge. The one Prince Henry had been carrying her across before he had thrown her into the pit.
The story Queen Isabella had spoken of; a pact between the first King of Aurea and the dragon of the mountains. That he had to sacrifice his three daughters to the beast, to ensure peace and prosperity for his kingdom. The reason for the cut upon her palm and Daenerys stared at the wound.
A sacrifice.
That's what she had been. A ritual sacrifice, to begot prosperity for the kingdom.
Dany didn't know why she expected any different. Sitting on the mossy ground, clutching her fallen tiara in hand as she stared up at the distant bridge.
I am blood of the dragon, she told herself, trying to fight back tears.
The dragons of scales and wings were long dead, and the last true Targaryen, her brother Rhaegar, had been murdered upon the green hills of the Trident years ago. Now Dany didn't feel brave at all. She just felt like crying. Did Viserys know what would happen to her? Or did he know and still handed her over as a sacrificial bride?
All of Magister Illyrio's kindness never came without strings; they had been sheltered in his manse for a year, eaten his food and been dressed in lavish clothes, and she knew he expected repayment by Viserys. Even his wedding gifts to her, the lilac dress, the velvet robes, the jewelry and books and exotic perfumes, the three fossilized dragon eggs, they were all paltry compared to whatever price he would demand from Viserys as King of the Seven Kingdoms. So had he talked her brother into offering her to Aurea as a sacrifice? She didn't want to believe her own brother genuinely wanted her dead. Hurt if she defied him certainly, but she struggled to believe he actually wished her dead.
Then again, with her death it meant her brother could take back the Iron Throne. Would that be a worthwhile exchange for Viserys? His sister for his kingdom?
Tears dripping down her cheeks, Daenerys stared at the tiara in her hands. The dragon's eyes were tiny rubies, glinting against the gold. The cut upon her hand wasn't deep, and pain lost behind all the other aches from her fall, but some blood stained the tiara as she rotated it. She wished dragons still existed, she wished to climb upon the back of one and fly high, high in the sky so the mountains looked like pebbles and castles looked like toys and she was safe from any who would harm her. She had only been able to touch one of the eggs briefly before it had been time for the supper and then the following morn had been the wedding. She had hoped to be able to keep them in her rooms after the marriage ceremony.
Instead she was trapped in a pit, alone and injured and sold as a sacrifice. They must have assumed the fall would kill her. For all she knew there could be cave bears or cats lurking further in the narrow tunnel she could spy across the cavern, ones that had dragged off the broken bodies of previous sacrifices. It wasn't an uncommon practice, after all. For young maidens to be slain, to be slaughtered like goats in order to beg the gods for mercy or wealth.
A dirty thumb brushed over the delicately etched head of the dragon and after a moment Daenerys got to her feet, placing the tiara back upon her hair. A part of her wanted to curl up and waste away but the part of her intrigued by the dragons, the part of her which was the descendant of Aegon the Conqueror, urged her forth. Maybe she could find a way out. Even if it was just to flee out into the countryside and die beneath the sun. It would be better than languishing in a cold damp cave.
As Daenerys began to make her way from the hollow, heading deeper into the mountain, a great scaled shape stirred from its slumber.
The smell of blood, faint as it was, was easy enough to follow.
Shohreh was well used to navigating the twisting turns of her cavern. Every inch of it she knew like her own scales, how many stalactites there was and how many geodes there, how often the bats would roost and what type of animal would dare creep into her cave. Her thick dark scales blended in with the mountainous rock, only a slight golden glimmer to the edges of her spines and wing membranes with the glow of her orange eyes. Otherwise she could be as indistinguishable from a rock.
Even her flight through the caves were familiar; she knew how fast or slow she must go, how to tilt her wings just so to avoid them scraping against a rocky pillar or the broken shelf. Waiting, hunting, stalking, when the time came for the payment due. For when she took the lives of three noble daughters, each and every generation, in recompense for her murdered daughters. Two had already died in the current offering, one burnt into a hunk of charred meat and another broken between her jaws, while the last was still alive and scampering about.
Shohreh found the discarded dress upon the ground within the maze of stalagmites; she recognized the heavy outer gold and white of the sacrificial garments. It seemed the last offering was smarter than the others, deciding to throw away the thick fabric so it would be easier to run and hide. No matter, she would hunt down the human. No matter how smart any of them tried to behave they all died the same.
She sniffed the garment again, filling her nostrils with the scent of that hatred noble blood. There was some red stains upon the white, merged with the dirt and moss. But as she pressed her muzzle against the skirt her tail flicked in confusion. A subtle scent lingered beneath the familiar one of her enemies. It smelled almost...
Almost like another dragon.
The last time she had smelled such a scent it had been with her three eggs and then with the corpses of her children. Then that scent had faded as their bodies petrified in death, turning as hard as statues. Their scent had vanished, leaving her all alone in silence.
Solitude did not bother her, as she had been alone for centuries even before growing gravid with her daughters. Then before that she could count upon her front paws how often she had met a kinswyrm.
Shohreh had never left Aurea; her kind was not nomadic and the few times she had met another it had been her answering a passing call. But they had grow distant as centuries passed, and then they had ceased. Then her daughters came and died within their first breaths and more centuries passed without a single note upon a winds. Perhaps she was the last and she was bitterly resigned to her fate. Content in revenge, in murdering the royal offspring of the humans who murdered her innocent daughters for no other crime than existing.
So as one resigned to being alone, and having been vindicated in such a feeling for so many centuries, picking up the whiff of a dragon baffled her. The spines along her back flared out as her tail lashed from side to side, wondering if perhaps it was a new trick. They had tried that at first, several generations in the punishment. Foolish tricks or even attempting to ambush her. Shohreh had burned down their orchards, scorched their lands until they learned she would not let such disrespect pass.
Humans were always the same, always so willing to kill others if it would save their own hides. Like that coward of a king who begged for mercy right after butchering her defenseless daughters. Pathetic, they all were.
It was just another trick, she decided. Her jaws opened, spitting out molten flame that reduced the dress to ashes. It was most likely some perfume or oil the human had tried to rub onto herself. The noble blood was still apparent to Shohreh's nose so with a wrinkled muzzle she turned away. Leaping into the air she took several great flaps of her wings, heading back into the tunnels.
Patience was a virtue of Shohreh. As a dragon she did not fear time and she would spend long spells hibernating between the sacrifices. Her magic would nourish her, even when she needed to eat simple hunts for the goats and leopards upon the mountains could satiate her.
Even so as she continued to try and find the last sacrifice the more irritated she began to feel. Her throat held a persistent glow, fire barely restrained as she searched. The scent of a kinswyrm was growing stronger the longer the sacrifice was unaccounted for, confusing Shohreh's sense of smell. Typically she could guess what chamber they were hiding in by scent alone, even those that found the one unreachable by her claws or flames. But the noble blood was growing fainter, lost beneath the smell of dragon. It wasn't exactly like her own, but enough it was confusing her instincts.
The last beings to have that scent were her daughters, and Shohreh's mood was getting black indeed. She briefly thought of flying from her cave and razing the castle down below but pushed her raging mood aside to continue her hunt. She would kill this human slowly, perhaps bite its limbs off to see it wriggle and scream. Or fire, hot enough to melt the skin but not so hot to char the bones. Leaving it alive in agony before she crush its burnt body with a clawed foot.
"Where are you, little bird?" she hissed, winging her way back across the bat caves. Through the small holes that pocked the ceiling she could tell morning had crested, narrow beams of light occasionally illuminating a cave or cavern as she flew in restless circles. This hunt was the longest one yet, besides those that decided to starve to death in their safe little grave hollow.
The smell of dragon vexed her, claws flexing and fangs bared, to the point she even sweved out through the entrance out to the mountain. Scouting the rocky cliffs in case the sacrifice managed to escape somehow. The only exit accessible to the sacrifices was the small passage that dropped to a sheer cliff; more than one human had fallen to a rocky death in their panic but when Shohreh flew past the narrow exit there was no broken body down far below.
Instead she found the final sacrifice in the largest cavern bored into the mountain, the one that housed the petrified remains of her daughters. Despite her irritation, she knew well how to keep her flight near silent in the huge cavern as she glided back inside and spotted the form far across the cave. She flared out her wings, landing gently upon the cold stone ground and began to creep towards the rise where her eggs were like a stalking cat.
The figure was slight and sodden, no doubt having fallen in one of the many pools in the cave. The light under-dress was wet and torn. The water had washed away the mud and moss of the sacrifice and again there was the scent of dragon; even the familiar one of the hated nobility was so faint it could barely be smelt even to her powerful nose. As Shohreh grew closer she noted the human's strange silvery hair. At first she thought perhaps it was an old one, some kind of trick, but as she crawled up the rise to face the back of the human she saw it was a girl so young Shohreh felt almost furious they were now offering babes to her. She had made it clear, she wanted them to be grown and able to comprehend the crimes of their family and blood when she killed them. This one was small, even smaller than the remains of the eggs.
The human was also sobbing into her hands, kneeling before the petrified remains and weeping. The smell of dragon was overwhelming, the stench of her enemies slowly disappearing completely even as Shohreh stared at the small figure. It was a human but a strange one.
"Why do you cry?" Shohreh hissed, pushing aside her curiosity for spite.
The girl flinched, whipping around so fast her sodden silvery hair sprayed out like a fan as she only just realized a dragon was behind her. Shohreh blinked at the sight of violet, red-rimmed eyes staring up at her. Again a colouring she was unfamiliar with.
The trembling girl stared at her, looking pathetically small beneath Shohreh's shadow. A girl indeed, certainly not the age she was used to being sent to her. Humans may enjoy butchering infants but Shohreh had her own rules. Her tail lashed, the noise like a whip crack and making the silver haired girl flinch again.
"I- I cry for the loss of the dragons," the girl managed to say. Her voice was meek, hands trembling. Shohreh sniffed again, lowering her neck. The girl was indeed the source of the smell of dragon. But how? Even now there was no subtle hint of the nobles. A trick? Magic?
With a snort Shohreh bared her teeth, "You weep for my daughters? It was your kind that butchered them. Your kind that snuffed out their lives."
The girl shivered, clutching at herself with trembling hands.
"Tell me your name, little bird," Shohreh crept forward.
The girl backed away until she stumbled against the small rise the three remains were upon. Still, the girl answered her in a meek voice, "I'm Daenerys of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror."
Shohreh cocked her head to the side, the spines around her skull flaring out slightly. That was not the name she was familial with, but she didn't care overly for human naming customs.
"Why do you smell of dragon? Is this some trick to hide your royal blood?" Shohreh demanded. A new trick but they only ever worked upon her once.
The girl cringed as Shohreh's teeth snapped at her, "I am descendant of the last of the dragonlords of Old Valyria. We- we have been bonded to dragons, House Targaryen has been. They are our companions, our blood. I was raised on stories of them."
Shohreh gave a snort, "A fascinating story. None of the other sacrifices claimed to be kin to me. Foolish but an amusing effort."
"It is not a story," some fire came into the girl's expression, fear warring with anger. "The Targaryens were the only dragonriders to escape the Doom. Aegon the Conqueror, he was bonded to Balerion the Black Dread. Queen Visenya to the dragon Vhagar, Queen Rhaenys to the dragon Meraxes. Through fire and blood. And when the dragons died out a century ago we never recovered our strength without them. The Targaryens were only as great as we were with them by our side. Until then- until you, I thought they were all extinct, that all dragons were. Even the queen said the story about the dragon in the mountains was a tale. How a dragon razed the lands and they had to slay them-"
"I did not raze any lands," Shohreh's voice rose to a roar, ignoring the rest of the girl's wild story. "The humans knew well enough to leave me alone until that fool king who crept in here and butchered my defenseless daughters. Your kind is the one that struct first! That is why you must pay, each generation I demand three daughters in retribution for my own! Three for the royalty who slain my children!"
The girl scrambled out of the way of a clawed paw, Shohreh unable to use her tail for fear of striking her daughters. Instead she snapped her jaws, growling as the girl's tiny frame meant she could dart around her like a mouse.
"I'm from Westeros, I am not an Aurean," the girl cried.
"Lies!"
"You said I smell of dragon, I am not lying! I'm the blood of dragons, of Old Valyria. They cut my palm in a ritual upon the mountain, had the prince press his own blood against mine. They have been deceiving you. Making you slay innocents instead of the noble family you despise."
Shohreh faltered, her instincts urging her to stand down. Almost as if her own kin, as if a hatchling were cowering before her as the girl pressed against the wall of the cave while reeking of fear. Unable to get past Shohreh's bulk to the rest of the cavern where escape beckoned. Pushing aside her warring instincts and her own roiling thoughts, Shohreh arched her neck like a snake as her throat started to glow.
"I do not care for your lies, human," Shohreh snarled, wings flaring wide as her throat pulsed. "I will not fall for this trick! You are no kin of mine!"
Fire blasted forth, brilliant and scorching and filling the cavern with brilliant hues of orange and white. Shohreh breathed fire until her throat gave out and grew dull, hacking and wheezing as she stumbled. Her talons scraped the floor, the entire wall before her covered in liquid fire so bright it was if it were the sun before her. Her daughters fossilized bodies glowed and something that almost felt like accusation and regret flared terribly within her.
No, it was a lie, Shohreh thought as she turned away feeling as sickened as the day she had returned to her lair to find the king. That...human was not a kinswyrm, not a hatchling. No. It was a trick.
Before the ruined eggs Shohreh instantly spotted the tiara. When she touched it with a claw it showed the tiny dragon within. Rage suddenly flooded her scales, so violently she threw back her head and screeched. She wanted nothing more than to burn down that horrid castle before her mountains and burn Aurea into a great field of ash. She wanted-
A noise behind her stopped Shohreh's raging mood, the spines along her back tense as she slowly turned to the wall where there should be nothing, not even bones. Instead she stared as the small form of the human girl, now completely naked with clothes and hair burnt away, crawl out of the lingering carpet of molten fire.
The girl, Daenerys, looked just as shocked. Staring at her sooty arms even as she flicked bits of fire from her hands. Her body was trembling and the scent of dragon was so overwhelming Shohreh felt like vomiting. A hatchling, she had tried to kill-
"How?" was all Shohreh could utter.
Bright violet eyes stared up at her, the girl stumbling away from the smoldering wall but seemingly uninjured by the burning coals she stumbled over. After coughing, she managed to say, "Dragons are fire made flesh. I am of the blood of dragons. Fire and blood."
That didn't answer any of Shohreh's questions. She had never once heard of humans bonding to dragons before. Hunted them, certainly. But bonding to them? Being companions to them? Never. Yet the girl standing before her, naked but unharmed after being blasted by a raging torrent of fire, was smelling exactly like her daughters had. What had happened, in her countless centuries isolated upon the mountain? Shohreh wanted to rage, to lash out with a clawed paw, but her instincts were furious at herself for even using her flame.
They have been deceiving you.
The girl, Daenerys, words came back to Shohreh and distracted her. The royal family of Aurea. They had found a way to avoid their punishment, to laugh at her rage. This was another act of spite, to fling a dragonblooded child into the pit as a sacrifice and laugh as Shohreh unknowingly killed kin. Only an entire night had scrubbed the tainted blood from the dragonchild's veins, if she had encountered Shohreh sooner...
Her scales flared out, feeling near mad with the fury that rushed through her bones. She would raze that castle to the ground, kill every last one of them-
Then a tiny pale hand touched her talon and Shohreh blinked, staring down at the little human that had approached her. Naked and bald and soot-stained but gazing up at her. Determined and trying to give comfort.
"I have eggs," the girl blurted.
Shohreh stared at her, "Eggs?"
"I don't- I know you grieve your children, that you have done all this for them. But for a wedding gift, Magister Illyrio gifted me three dragon eggs. He says they have been petrified over the centuries but if you've lived here for so long, for so many centuries before the castle was even created. Then mayhaps you can have them hatch? I am unsure as to how it is done but you won't be alone. I can take you to them."
Shohreh didn't know what was wrong with the human. She had just tried to butcher her, burn her alive, and now the girl was attempting to comfort her. But that was pushed aside as she comprehended the words the girl had said. Dragon eggs. Her own had been inert for a century before they hatched. Dragons lived long so spending many eons as eggs was not uncommon.
The sudden idea she could have hatchlings left Shohreh reeling. She had been resigned to her fate, her revenge. To spending long weeks staring at the broken eggs and being reminded of her failure, year after year. Her daughters had not even names, too young, before they had been murdered.
To have hatchlings again...
Shohreh stared at the cold plinth where her daughters fossilized remains were held in place. Gleaming gold, cold and lifeless as they had been for centuries. She had mourned them, grieved them, killed for them. But now a dragonblooded human was here, offering her three. She never gave much stock in fate, thought it cruel and uncaring, but now this flame-immune human was before her. Offering her three eggs to replace the three she had lost.
Fate or a chance?
Either way Shohreh's maternal instincts, something which had been dead the moment her children had died, were roused at the sight of the injured hatchling before her. And from Daenerys's words there were three more hatchlings to rescue.
Mind churning, Shohreh reached out and picked up the human. Carefully, gently, unlike every other time she caught one in her paw. The human didn't resist, body as hot as a dragon's hide.
"We must find you clothes, my daughter," Shohreh decided, giving the gold remains a final look before tucking Daenerys against her chest. "I know a hidden place with dresses for you to wear. Then when you are ready, we will find your siblings and give those who deceived us fire and blood."
Then with a crack of her wings they were airborne, shimmering motes of flame and ash dancing around the broken eggs. Slowly the noise of wingbeats faded, silence enshrouding the cavern even as the last hints of flame upon the stone faded with it.