The Dragon Queen

Mēre

Sir Willem Darry was old, and Daenerys knew that he would not live much longer. She wanted to ensure that before he passed, he taught them well. The young girl had managed to convince him to teach her the basics of sword fighting in secret. She knew her brother was growing bitter and would eventually use her for his own gain. So, she started keeping secrets.

Looking around, she smiled at the house, knowing they would be leaving in a year. At just four years old, she had convinced Sir Willem that she was a prodigy. She had begun her sword-fighting lessons at three, and in the span of a year, she had absorbed everything he had taught her—alongside learning the languages of Essos. At least she was intelligent; it would guarantee her survival.

Her violet eyes were calculating. She knew they would be living on the streets for some years, but selling her mother's crown would never be an option. At four, she was powerless to change their fate, so she devised another plan. She waited until nightfall, creeping into the owners' rooms. She knew exactly where they kept their valuables.

Opening a chest, her eyes widened at the sight of the gold they had received from Sir Willem. Without a hint of guilt, she filled her bag and secured it. Opening a second bag, she gathered several pieces of silver before glancing back at the sleeping owners.

Slipping out of the room, she returned to her bed and tucked the bags into her undergarment bag. It already held two other precious items—her mother's crown and a Targaryen sigil necklace. It was not enough money to last five years, but it would help her survive.

The girl looked at her sleeping brother and sighed. He was destined to die, and she would not change that.

As she drifted into a deep sleep, she heard the voice of R'hllor. Unlike before, it was filled with compassion and understanding.

"My chosen, I have left you with a little gift. I hope you use it well."

Before she could respond, her brother shook her awake, his eyes filled with anger and sadness.

"Happy birthday, Dany."

Ah, yes. She was five now. Things would only get worse from here. The young girl could only smile.

Five Years Later

Ten-year-old Daenerys Targaryen watched as her brother roamed the streets of Braavos, desperately seeking allies. He would not notice her absence.

Slipping away, she made her way to the House of Black and White. As she entered, many figures fell to their knees. Her violet eyes widened in surprise.

"Why do the Faceless Men bow to me?" she asked.

One of the men stepped forward. "A man senses the blessing of the Many-Faced God. A man understands that he must serve."

To the surprise of the assassins in the room, the girl nodded and smiled softly.

"A girl is the chosen of the Many-Faced God and the Lord of Light."

Hearing these words, the Faceless Men made their decision.

"Then a girl will be trained by us."

The smile that spread across Daenerys' face was both vicious and pleasing to the assassins in the room.

Her training began immediately. She quickly gained the support of the guild, who viewed her in a positive light. They knew she could never fully join them, but she would be the greatest assassin they had ever trained.

One day, she finally revealed her name.

"I am called Daenerys Targaryen."

Unbeknownst to her, that declaration led the guild to reject every assassination request from Robert Baratheon.

It took Daenerys two years to become a Faceless assassin. Her time in Braavos had been good for her—but not for her brother. She watched as his pride was crushed, day after day, while he begged to survive. She saw him succumb to the madness that lurked within every Targaryen.

Soon, her brother was ready to leave. Saying farewell to her teachers, she turned to the man who would journey to Westeros.

"Jaqen H'ghar, when the time is right, you will meet Arya Stark. Train her well—she will be a great friend to me in the future."

The man nodded before vanishing into the shadows.

None of the Faceless Men questioned the bag of gold coins left as an offering—they had grown accustomed to the Targaryen queen's habits.

Daenerys knew her brother was travelling to Pentos. She tried not to let her anger consume her. Her twelfth birthday meant they would soon give her to Khal Drogo.

By now, she was certain of her brother's impending death. She felt no love for him, and had she not known how vital his demise would be, she would have killed him herself. Instead, she painted on the innocent, delicate expression that had long since convinced him she was weak and fragile. Yet it did not stop him from verbally abusing her. If only he knew that his words meant nothing to her.

Pentos was beautiful. Slavery was not as prevalent there as in other parts of Essos. Unlike her brother, who trusted Illyrio, she did not. However, she played the part well, pretending to view him as a friend and ally. Because he saw her as nothing more than a bargaining tool, he spent little time with her, allowing her to continue her training and studies undisturbed.

Of course, she maintained her appearance, tending to her health and beauty. Six months into their stay, she finally discovered R'hllor's gift.

While studying Valyria, she came across ancient scrolls detailing the gifts of the blood of Old Valyria and dragons. Realising their significance, she ensured her brother never saw them, sneaking them into her room and hiding them away.

Late at night, she pored over the scrolls, and to her astonishment, she learned that she could wield fire. The young princess began to practise. Her days became a cycle of training and study.

As the time of her betrothal drew closer, she prepared in other ways. She underwent special treatments for her skin and hair.

She would not refuse marriage to the Khal.

Perhaps, with him, she would find love.