Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they all belong to George R. R. Martin. If you don't like Daenerys Targaryen, I'll warn you once: DO NOT READ THIS. Enjoy!


The smell of Essosi spices and musk filled her senses. The sun beating down on her northern furs, beads of sweat sticking to blistered skin.

She walked swiftly between the crowded streets, avoiding the wandering of eyes of anyone who glanced one second too long.

In Westeros she was a wolf among sheep, in the free cities she was a sewer rat among vipers.

Anyone could be a threat, anyone could be her, anyone could be no one.

The city of Meereen bustled with activity, the sounds of laughter, cheerful songs and quiet whispers. The streets were rich with color and life, happiness at every corner she passed. Cloaks of red and burgundy ruffled in the winds, speaking words of prophecy or magic she didn't know. The language was foreign to her Westerosi ears. In Braavos she only needed two words to survive.

Valar Morghulis.

Swarms of people gathered around a woman dressed in red who bore great resemblance to the red witch that told her of her own destiny.

"Ziry emagon daerēdas īlva! Dāria zaldrīzoti iksos se prince hen īlva āeksio se kaerīnio!"

The people rejoiced at what was being said in their tongue. Cheers erupted in the crowd as she spoke on.

"Se muñnykeā zaldrīzoti ziry jāhor mazverdagon nykeā arlie vys se zālagon se uēpa!"

The way this red woman spoke reminded her of that fateful day, when the mother of dragons spoke to her foreign armies underneath a sky of ash.

The free cities of Essos were once slave ridden, the poor stayed poor while the rich drank wine and pissed gold. That was before her.

Daenerys Stormborn.

The Targaryen Queen who brought the terrifying songs of dragons back into the world, conquered cities and freed slaves from the masters, saving the people of the world from The Long Night with her dragons and foreign armies. The woman who set fire to the city of Kings Landing until all that was left was death and destruction, her house words coming to life.

Fire and Blood.

Even after massacaring thousands she spoke with passion and strength, it was there that she witnessed it. She was what she claimed to be.

The mother of dragons. The blood of the dragon.

But she only ruled for a time, until she was stabbed in the heart by the man she loved. Jon.

She could still remember the heartbreak she saw in his eyes, his whole demeanor was one of a broken man, a man with no purpose, no reason to live. Stormy grey eyes stared at his siblings with a look that would scar her forever.

"Will you ever forgive me?" Sansa questioned with a gleam of hope.

He turned his head, eyes of steel glaring at the sister who swore to him under the weirwood trees yet went against her word the very same day. He looked at the three of the remaining pack one last time, the look of fire in his eyes, eyes of a dragon. And that was her answer.


Turning his back on the family he once knew and never looked back, not even to her. And that had broken her.

Bran The Broken now ruled the 6 kingdoms of Westeros that were threatening to become less. It wasn't close to a year before the Lord's started to demand independence as the North had.

The Dornish were unbowed, unbent, unbroken and the Ironborn were only loyal to one queen. Highgarden rebelled against the sellsword that sat as its Lord, Bronn of the Blackwater and placed the closest living relative of House Tyrell on its seat, demanding independence. Storms End was as loyal to Bran Stark as was Robert Baratheon to his Queen Cersei Lannister. Daenerys Targaryen legitimized Gendry Waters when nobody else would and gave the titles he deserved, naming him the Lord of Storms End and kin to House Targaryen through their ancestor Orys Baratheon and his great grandmother Princess Rhaelle Targaryen.

She remembers the disappointment in his eyes when she rejected his proposal.

"I'm not a lady. That's not me."

Moons passed until a raven was sent to Kings Landing, bearing the mark of a stag.

"Lord Gendry Baratheon has married Halaena of house Velaryon."

And that was the end of them.

Amongst the chaos Bran had pulled her aside in his chambers, only Tyrion present who paced the council room nervously with a pitcher of wine clutched tightly to his side.

"Brother? What is it?"

For the first time in years since he became the three eyed raven she saw something in his eyes that only no one could detect.


"There are rumors, whispers of a silver haired woman, violet of eyes, the unsullied and Dothraki at her command."

Impossible. It couldn't be. Suddenly the air became hot, too humid as if the sun were right above them.

"Lies. Silver of hair and amethyst of eyes are a common thing in Essos. A pretender." Arya spat.

The imp laughed aloud almost madly, red wine spewed out his mouth. "A pretender? A pretender who could convince a dragon, her dragon to be its mount?"

Her blood ran cold. How could it be possible? Jon killed her himself, the blood that stained the ash ridden throne room evident along with the fact that her brother was honorable and truthful as their father was.

"Jon killed her." Bran reassured, "Drogon took her body East to Volantis."

She had nothing else to say but to bask in her disbelief. Out of all the things she had seen in the world, dragons, faceless men, flaming swords, the undead and prophecies coming to life before her eyes. Even Bran was someone she didn't know, she hadn't seen her brother ever since the first time she left to Kings Landing, a day that sealed all of their fates.

"Do you know it to be true? Have you seen her?"

Tyrion stopped his pacing, turning to their King for an answer.

"No. I haven't been able to see them since Drogon entered Volantis."

By dawn she was on a ship, Nymeria and setting sail towards Essos with a small fleet of Northmen.

If the whispers are true. You know what needs to be done.

Needle weighed thrice the weight it had before.

For the realm.

But all that came to mind were lifeless grey eyes similar to her own and the happiness she wished to breathe back into them. Her brother.

Shouts disrupted her thoughts, the sound of unison marching grew closer and like a ghost she slipped into the shadows, eyes focused on the entrance of soldiers that moved in sync.

Familiarity dawned on her, taking in the black armor that adorned them, spiked helmets and spears at their sides.


Grey eyes watched them cautiously as they passed, her hand gripping the pommel of needle tightly.

They were here. The unsullied patrolled the city in groups ever the imposing warriors yet the people paid them no mind, smiles etched on their faces at the sight of these warriors.

She remembers the battle of Winterfell, when the Unsullied protected the retreat of the Northmen, the men her people disliked with a hatred only Northeners could ever give, were the last men inside the safety of the gates.

Their commander demanded justice for their fallen Queen, for her brothers blood to be spilled and for Tyrion Lannister to be executed for his treason but somehow the Imp had convinced him that it wasn't his choice.

If the unsullied were here, that could mean she was alive. But it wasn't enough. The unsullied were natives of Essos and their commander had said they would continue liberating the people of Essos, in the name of their former Queen. There were no Dothraki in sight nor was their a trace of dragon wings in the skies.

She needed to see her face.

She waited until their steps faded before slipping into the crowd, her small stature easily lost within the bodies. Closer and closer she began to make her way to the pyramids. They stood magnificent, gleaming in the sun. To her surprise the gates were open, commoners trailed in and out of its gates with little care, but the Unsullied still stood, guarding its entrance.

She slipped away from the bustling crowd, disappearing into the shade of trees. The woman who stepped out from the shadows was named Delilah, a middle aged woman seeking help and coin for her sick child.

A girl walked passed the gates with ease, into the great pyramid quietly admiring the beauty of it before making haste towards the throne room.

Four unsullied blocked her passage as expected, the tip of their spears pointed towards her. "Skoros gaomagon ao jaelagon hen se pāletilla"

A girl didn't know what she was being asked so she burst into tears, sobs wracking her body as she fell to the floor.

The unsullied watched her sullenly before one shouted a command. "Gūrogon zȳhon naejot se āeksio!"

Two of the masked men flanked her sides, grabbing both of her arms until she could stand. Gut wrenching sobs escaped her mouth as they carried her to where she wanted to be. Where she needed to be.

The throne room was massive in size, magnificent pillars engraved with the histories of the free cities. Sunlight shined onto marbled floors and gold statues, the room seemed to glow with wealth, proof of the blood and slavery that once built it.

And on the throne wasn't the silver haired dragon queen that her brother feared. It was a man.

His eyes are blue, mischief dancing within them, a smug smirk on his thin lips. A head of dark hair that almost matched her brothers and handsome to the eye, fit with a lithe built, dressed in loud colors and finery.

"How may the crown be of service to you my fair lady?" He asks in the common tongue and she is relieved.

A girl bowed before wiping her false tears, "My child is sick but I have no coin nor assistance in helping her."

"Were the healers not able to make their rounds to your home?" He questions with a raised brow.

She shakes her head, "No your Majesty, they haven't."

He hums in response, eyes dancing.

"That is odd. Our healers are stationed at each corner of this city, it is rare to find a sickly person in our streets that have not already been seen or treated." His eyes narrowed slightly yet still he held his smirk that made her want to shift her feet.

It is there that she treads carefully. She needed to find the right answer before his suspicion grew. She needed to leave.

"My mistake your Majesty, I've been so distracted with my child's wellbeing and my age is not any help at all. I do not want to hassle the healers any more than I already have but perhaps I will have to. Thank you for words of wisdom, I shall take my leave now."

The Essosi man tilted his head in wonder, "There is nothing the crown can assist you with? Are you sure?"

The only thing she was sure about was that he wasn't her. She wasn't here. And if she wasn't here it meant the whispers were untrue. Her mission was over. She could go home or back to the sea.

Daenerys Targaryen was no more.

A girl nodded respectfully once more before moving towards the entrance only to be blocked by a line of unsullied.

She turned to look at him questioningly, her eyes showed innocence but her mind began to panic. She tensed as he stood from his throne, both hands gripping the dagger and sword that lay on his hip.

"I've been to many places in the free cities my lady, from the streets of Tyrosh to the Dothraki sea, Lys to Volantis, Dragons Bay to Braavos but I cannot seem to place your accent."

He spoke as he descended down the steps, with the swagger of a killer.

He heart began to beat roughly against her chest, the mask of calm and innocence on her face threatened to slip.

"I am a woman of many cultures, and I learn as much as I can through books and tales. You are a lucky man, unfortunately I have never been to the other free cities your highness. But I do hear of it's vastness."

The man shrugged in place, a smug smirk still on his lips. His eyes were dark, shifting from mischievous to charm. She once said she knew what a killer was when she saw one, this man was dangerous.

They stood in silence, the sound of summer breeze echoing in the halls until he nodded, a sharp smile etched on his face.

"Valar Morghulis."

She feigned a smile, ignoring the knot that sat in her throat. Valar Morghulis. Valar Doheris. All men must die. All men must serve.

"Please if there is nothing else that I can do for you..."

She bowed quickly, "Thank you for your time your Majesty." She made quick work leaving the temple, dispersing into a crowd of laughing children and women before shedding her face.

It wasn't until she reached a dark corner, rid of any person or soldier in sight, where nobody could see her face did she breathe.

Sweat poured from her profusely, her tunic and leathers clung to her uncomfortably like a second skin. Breathe. Breathe.

Valar Morghulis.

All men must die.

Valar Dohaeris.

All men must serve.

Then she ran.

Past the bustling streets, past the laughing children and doting mothers, smiling merchants and red women. The smell of the seas pushed her harder.

Black plumes of smoke stained the clear skies where land met the sea and she ran harder. No, no, no.

Bodies cleared the path for her as she rushed through them, smoke filled her lungs as she got closer. Her heart dropped at the sight before her.


Nymeria collapsed into itself as the flames devoured her from each side. Red and black flicked at every piece of wood, lastly burning the dire wolf sails until nothing was left but ash and smoke.

A dark cloud covered the skies and devoured the sun until the whole city and its people were under its shadow. Heat so smoldering, more so than the furnace of her former ship hovered above her, the sound of heavy winds and wings causing the seas to crash against the docks.


Her eyes glanced up towards the skies and was met by onyx and scarlet scales. Reptilian blood red eyes stared at her with fury, smoke billowing from its nostrils and mouth of swords the color of obsidian. She was surely looking into the mouth of hell.

The Queens Dragon, Balerion the Dread Reborn. The dragon who blanketed Kings Landing with fire and blood flew above her, a sound emitted from its hellion mouth loud enough her ears threatened to explode.

That was when she saw it. A silver color so white it could've been mistaken for blinding sunlight. Amethyst eyes filled with fire, she felt as if she were staring into the eyes of a dragon.

This was no pretender, it couldn't be.

She was living, breathing, Bran had been right.


She needed to warn the King, she had to. Except she wouldn't be the one to tell her brother, she couldn't.

The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

This is how she would die. A girls eyes shut for the last time, the faces of the ones she loved plagued her mind. Faces of the past. Her mother's love, Jon's protective eyes that matched her own, her fathers embrace.

Valar Morghulis

"But we are not men."

She gasped, eyes flying open to the figure in front of her. Daenerys Targaryen dismounted her dragon with grace, violet eyes never leaving her own. Her fingers ran across the beasts mouth as if calming the fires that gathered in its maw and it purred under he touch.

People all around fell to their knees in unison, not one person was left standing except herself and the last Targaryen. Silence erupted the chaos, she couldn't hear anything besides her own thundering heartbeat and the supposed dead queens footsteps.

"Why have you come here?" Her tone was calm, demanding but held no malice.

"Rumors, to seek the truth."

The silver haired girl frowned, a mask of indifference couldn't hide the fury in her eyes.

"And have you found it?"

Arya nodded once.

"I have. But I have only one question."

The silver queen tilted her head as if allowing her to speak, and to her own surprise she followed it.

"Why am I still breathing?"

With a raised brow the last Targaryen stepped towards her slowly, pale lilac silks trailed behind her, silver tresses surrounded her like a halo, reaching her thighs.

The wolf took in her appearance as she came closer, her fair skin that was once milky white glowed golden from the Essosi sun, any traces that were evident of her death were replaced with ethereal beauty, even more so than before. Amethyst and emerald jewels adorned her fingers, neck and arms, a three headed dragon crown sat atop of her head, gleaming in the sunlight. With the monstrous beast at her back, she understood why House Targaryen reigned for 300 years, why they answered to neither gods nor men.

The dragon stopped close to her, the skirts of her dress touching her own feet. A pained expression etched on her delicate features.

"In another life we could've been sisters. I will not show you the same hospitality as you've shown me when I came to the North. My queendom welcomes all people to thrive in peace- slaves, freedmen and traitors alike."

The queen spoke her last words with distaste.

"For now, you live."



"Ziry emagon daerēdas īlva! Dāria zaldrīzoti iksos se prince hen īlva āeksio se kaerīnio!" - The dragon queen freed us! She is the princess of our lord and savior!

"Se muñnykeā zaldrīzoti ziry jāhor mazverdagon nykeā arlie vys se zālagon se uēpa!"- The mother of dragons she will make a new world and burn the old!

Skoros gaomagon ao jaelagon hen se pāletilla"- What do you want from the crown?


AN: One shot. This has been sitting in my drafts for a couple months now since the finale of GOT and I haven't really revised or edited but I just had to give Daenerys' ending justice. I won't be continuing this, maybe. :) If you hate the story send your hate to ya mommas house it or keep it in your head to fester until you realize Daenerys truly deserved better. Much love! xxxx