Bringing the Dawn

LVII

Daenerys Targaryen

Qarth, 301AC

White. Everywhere she looked she saw nothing but white.

From the ground, to in front of her, to her sides, behind her, and even the bloody sky.

White. White. White. And even more white.

Yet it was soft, making a crunching noise with every movement she made as confusion ran through her mind. They were in Qarth, a city right beside the Bone Mountains which separated western Essos to eastern Essos. An area that was notoriously hot and one of many reasons it was not uncommon for people to walk around with lots of skin on show that elsewhere would get them in serious trouble. She reached down to see what it was, picking up a handful of the soft material and watching it slowly begin to melt against the heat of her body and leave her fingers feeling numb. For a second, a grin so large came onto her face it could've split her face in two but this was soon replaced as she realised something.

Where was everyone?

Heartbeat quickening as she looked all around but she couldn't see a blasted thing as now snow was falling so heavy her vision was obscured. Landing on her ears, exposed shoulders, tip of her nose. The novelty of seeing something that had only been described to her by Sansa a few days prior wearing off quickly as she realised just how damned cold it was here. Something her pale lilac dress which exposed an entire breast did nothing to ward off.

"Rhaenys?! Sansa?! Mychelah?! Shiera?! Jorah?!"

Numerous names she had called from the Dothraki that had followed her to Qarth, to the few people she had gotten to know in Qarth like Xaro Xhoan Daxos and Xander Erranox despite the latter leaving a sour taste on her tongue as he had refused to give her ships to sail for Westeros to take back her family's throne. Īlvon Āegenkon Dēmalion issa. Words Viserys had always spoken to her when they were little. The Iron Throne is ours. By now, Dany was frantically calling more names of anyone she could think of but again there was no answer. Huffing loudly and beginning to walk. How long she had walked she could not say, but it was hard. It was so difficult to move the snow was that thick. Having to lift her knees so high they almost touched her breasts to take another step as it was now almost of a height as such. Mayhaps to Sansa such a thing was normal as she had grown up in the North, but she had not, and she misliked it greatly.

Then she felt something land on her. Not a snowflake as she's gotten used to that sensation within a few minutes. Turning to see what it was on her shoulder as alarm ran through her. No, it couldn't be. Fingers reaching up to touch the thick liquid and sniffing it quickly. The scent of iron invading her nostrils and cursing silently to herself for doing that. Blood. It was raining blood. Thick droplets now falling and Dany's eyebrows creased in the centre as it wasn't just red. Mixed with black it was, each droplet falling on the snow until a pattern emerged. One she had never seen before nor was it one that roused anything within her. Almost looking like a spiral, with fifteen points emerging from the centre yet it did not mesh with the snow. It simply lay atop it like nothing would disrupt the soft material surrounding her legs. Then a second pattern emerged, this time another spiral but with six points. The top three twisting left and the bottom three twisting also to the left like it was an unfinished circle. This one felt vaguely familiar and it hit her like a swarm of mosquitos as she took a few steps back.

It looked like their sigil. House Targaryen's sigil. But it couldn't be, could it?

Yet the spikes never once changed. They did not change shape, they did not thicken, and no more spikes were formed from the blood that was still steadily dripping from the sky. Now it was thickening up again, taking deep breaths and holding it so she wouldn't risk accidentally swallowing any of it as she breathed. Just as fast as it had appeared though, it was gone. Body now covered in thick blood coloured both black and red and dripping from her onto the soft snow. Walking over a few feet and picking up patches of snow to melt it and wiping as much of it off as she could. Once she was as clean as she could get, she walked again but not for long before another snowstorm came. Covering the patterns and the large patch the blood had left until it was completely buried from sight and all she could see was white.