Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has been in exile her entire life. Robert's Rebellion twenty years ago forced her and her siblings out of their home to Essos. Valaena was sold to Khal Drogo as his wife so her brother could use her husband's arm...
A/N: I'm not back regularly yet, but I have this to offer you.
"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."
["A dragon is not a slave"]
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Darkness was chased away by a faint, warm light drawing closer. Pillars framed a dais atop which sat a towering throne of swords. The imposing monolith of iron dwarfed the man seated within them. A painted red crown of gold was askew on silver hair draped over frail shoulders. Black clothed arms barely touched the metallic points beneath them.
A woman with hair light as the king's stood to his left. The beams of light pouring in through the windows made her dress seem to glisten with the blood of her husband's slain enemies. The fabric fell loosely on her frail form, her face gaunt and pale with thin hands clasped together.
As the candlelight flickered, armor shone red to the right of the throne. A warrior stood proudly behind the king's shoulder, his flaming hair waving in the still room. His hands rested on the pommels at his hips, the emeralds matched the glow in his eyes. A gloved hand wrapped around a pommel which matched the stranger's gifts hanging from my belt.
Child of three the whispers echoed as streams of red trickled from the king's arms, the scene fading to white.
White turned to blue as wind whipped my hair around me. Violet wings beat the air into a frenzy. The powerful rhythm of Rhaellyra's wings matched the strain of her back beneath me. Her black spines shone iridescent in the sunlight against the pitch of my cloak. As she banked to the right, I spotted familiar blue scales.
Atop Daenysis sat a man clad in a fur cloak. His dark hair was pulled out of his face yet still waved behind him in the gale. The black fur around his body accentuated the hues in Daenysis' scales. As he turned to face me, Jon's gaze softened as he smiled in my direction and raised a hand towards me.
Turning to my other side, the forest below contrasted with the way Rhaegys' green scales shone in the light. The spines along his back matched the golden cloak nestled between his shoulders. A crop of dark hair atop tanned skin shifted toward where I sat. White teeth shone in the light as Oberyn's lips pulled back into a warm smile.
Three heads the whispers echoed as the sky turned black.
The gaping wound where my heart used to be clenched around nothing as a scene I never wished to see again became clear. Drogo laid on his funeral pyre, the flames licking around Rhaego in his arms. I could faintly make out the maegi's screams as the heat consumed her and reached out to envelop me like an old friend.
The fire spread, encircling my form and covering the stars as the screams grew deeper, louder, desperate. The figures before me warped and shifted until they became the khals I executed. The men beat against the burning walls, their shadows meeting at the pyre in the center of the temple.
