DaenerysTargaryen stretched her legs out in front of her on the smooth flat stone where she sat, leaning back on her arms. She smiled broadly as she watched her three dragons - Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion - frolicking above her in the air. Her advisors had warned her against going out alone and unprotected, but she had only laughed at them.
"I shall not be alone, nor unprotected," she had retorted. "My dragons will be with me."
Daenerys was young and headstrong, but she possessed wisdom beyond her years. This was not surprising, considering she had spent the majority of her childhood living like a beggar's brat, hunted, hiding and running, with only her brother Viserys to watch over her.
A light breeze blew her silvery blonde hair across Her face and she swept it away with long delicate fingers as Viserion, the palest of the three dragons, lighted next to her. She reached out to stroke his cool scaled head, and whispered to him in the tongue of Old Valyria. Viserion rewarded her with a low rumbling purr, and nuzzled under her chin.
Rhaegal and Drogon had found a wild goat grazing in the hills, and were fighting over their prize, tugging back and forth on the creature in the air. She called out to them, scolding. "You must share!" She knew they couldn't understand her, and yet as their mother, she had to try to control them. The goat landed at her feet with a thud, and her stomach turned as she regarded the poor beast - its neck bent at an odd angle, and chunks of flesh torn from it's flank. Viserion roared at his brothers, and flapped down to join them in tearing at the carcass. Daenerys looked away.
The dragons wer not babies anymore. They were getting larger - much larger - and she knew that she would not be able to control them for much longer. Since she had been a baby, Daenerys had been raised on the stories of her ancestors from ages past. Tales like that of Aegon the Conqueror who, along with his two sisters, rode their dragons into the land of Westeros and united all the Seven Kingdoms together under one rule, were all she knew of her heritage. The Targaryens had raised and trained dragons for centuries, but they were all gone now. Daenerys was the last of the Targaryens and her dragons were the last of their race as well. They only had each other, and she did not know how to bring them into submission. With a heavy heart, she turned back to watch her children. They had finished their meal and were playing, wrestling with each other and occasionally blowing smoke from their nostrils.
The afternoon sun was low in the sky - it would be evening soon, and Daenerys knew she needed to return to the city. Some days she questioned whether she really desired to rule as a queen. The daily routine was tedious, and the responsibilities weighed heavy on her. She much preferred to be alone in the countryside with her dragons. It was here that she felt most at peace. Meereen was not her home. Everything here was alien to her, but she tried to blend in with the culture of her people as best she could. Old Brown Ben Plumm had told her, "Man wants to be the king o' the rabbits, he best wear a pair o' floppy ears." So each day, she donned her floppy ears, and tried to assimilate herself into the Meereenese culture, but it did not feel like home.
With a deep sigh, Daenerys lifted herself up off the rock upon which she had been perched. Stretching her muscles, she called out to the dragons: "Rhaegal! Drogon! Viserion! Come!" They did understand a few basic commands, and sometimes they even obeyed. Fortunately, today was one of those days, and the three large reptilian beasts flapped into the air, hovering above her. Together they made their way back to the city gates, entering Meereen just as the sun was setting on the horizon behind them.
