𝐎𝐓𝐂, 𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐁, game of thrones

the beginning of the end.

Dreamers. Not many believed that such a thing even existed inside a person. Throughout the many years, starting from the beginning and coursing towards the end, it was rumored that there was plenty of dreamers within the Targaryen blood line.

The first having been Daenys, who had forseen the downfall and destruction of Old Valyria - and with her most desperate heed, her kin relocated and found a place of their own within Dragonstone.

Thus, becoming the very beginning of the end for the House Targaryen.

Then there was Aegon Targaryen, first of his name.

Late Queen Visenya Targaryen, second of her name.

Elaena Targaryen, Queen Visenya's second born daughter.

Helaena Targaryen.

Daemon Blackfyre and so on.

The young Princess Daenerys was always so fascinated about the dreamers among her ancestors in particular - unlike Viserys, the troublesome brother whom she couldn't help but love despite the troubles and sheepish disagreements in between them.

She believed that dreams could help save the world in it's own unique way, and despite being awfully right in her own assumptions, such dreams could also help destroy the world in a blink of a dragon's eye.

This one night and heavy with ale, Viserys Targaryen had spent his time buried in many and multiple whores while dawn grew closer and drew upon them - unbeknownst to his younger sister who fussed and suffered in her sleep, fighting demons and overcoming the nightmares of her families death, some would say.

And while Daenerys had always thought herself to be weird, though not as weird as her two brother's, she never really thought herself to be insane.

Not insane enough to catch glimpses of the tragedy that had befallen on her family many decades ago.

Blood, death, war, betrayal, heartbreak, kinslaying, usurping, anger, despair, agony and so on.

As a child, Viserys had always convinced her that not one of their ancestors would even survive what they had went through as children. Not any of the conquerors, not any of the fiercest warriors, not any of the most traumatized targaryen's, not any of the mad rulers, not any of the men, and definitely not any of the women.

And despite her dream being one of her own imagination, said dream was enough to make her believe that all Viserys had said was a lie.

What her head allowed her to see in that one faithful slumber, was pain that hurted her emotionally and physically. Such emotion that had never once crawled so very close to her pale and flawless skin until then.

A war between kin.

Once upon a time, Viserys use to read her many stories about the book that spoke of the dance.

Of the usurpation, disagreements and bloodshed that tore her family apart.

The story gave her conflict. It gave her disappointment and unfueled anger.

But most out of all, it also gave her hope.

Hope to return home and take back what was once her family's. The Irone Throne.

Witches all across Westeros often spoke about a spell. They called it 'the eighth hell'

A name quite befitting for the late Queen Visenya.

And while Daenerys thought it to be impossible to bring someone back from the dead - someone who had been dead for such a long and large amount of time, she still allowed herself to hope.

To think and to plan.

A friend of a witch once told her older brother that in order to do such a thing, you would need the body, or a body part that was as big as the long length of a grown man's calve. Viserys thought this to be impossible and quite hopeless, as the stories sharply claimed that Princess Rhaenyra had traditionally burned all that was left of her older sister.

Though Viserys' hopelessness soon turned into thoughtfulness when his sister suddenly asked the woman if the blood of said person would be enough to bring some sort of history alive.

Despite her hesitancy, the woman before them would offer a curt nod of her head after having been threatened by the young Viserys himself.

"Blood should be more than successful enough." The woman would say. "There is only one spell in this entire world that can preform such a miracle. A spell that indulges the fuel and speck of black magic. Dark magic. A great amount can possibly secure your wish."

Dark magic was a sacred ritual that most witches found themselves using in dire times against their foes and men who deserved it.

Not once had any witch dared to toy and use their abilities to bring forth a person from the dead.

Not until now.