Women are supposed to be soft-spoken proper and homemakers and Rhaella Lopez was everything but she was fierce, loud, blunt and deadly. Her family had never been able to accept her but the FBI loved her it was her home, the only place other than the...
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It was silent and unexpected when the declaration of war arrived. The small council sat in fear as the letter was placed in the middle of the table. Their king was furious, and the Targaryen Queen was bold—she had sent a letter declaring him a usurper and a murderer.
She proclaimed that the throne was hers by right and that if they would not surrender, she would follow the words of her house and conquer Westeros in Fire and Blood. Petyr Baelish frowned and turned to the Master of Whispers, who looked pale; it seemed that not even the Spider had been prepared for the Dragon Queen's declaration of war.
Robert was fuming as his council descended into chaos, some arguing for surrender, others for war. He would sooner die than willingly give up the throne to that Targaryen whore. As he seethed, three people exchanged knowing looks—the Reach and the North would gracefully pull out of this to report the matter to their lords and ladies. The Dornish woman who stood behind the king, pouring his wine, smirked—her lord would be pleased by this development.
Daenerys watched as her dragons were fitted for their armour, ensuring they would be safe in the skies. Next to her, Drogo stood with his men, observing a map. Their latest conquest was Dragonstone—she would reclaim her family home. From there, they would prepare to conquer Westeros. Upon learning that Dragonstone was where their Khaleesi had been born—thanks to Obara and Arya's loose tongues—the generals had set their sights on taking it back.
Meanwhile, her cousin had been exposed to new poisons that made her grin. Of course, their entire army and people had already been fed the antidote, but once a few lords ingested it, they would not be able to fight off its effects.
Her newest concern, however, was Jon Snow. The man had, luckily, not yet been killed, but she needed to act quickly. Turning to Balerion, she smiled. "Rȳ bantis ropagon īlon sōvegon." (At nightfall, we fly.) Balerion leaned into his mother's touch and huffed. He had seen where she wanted to go and understood that this flight would take place under the cover of darkness, ensuring they would not be seen.
Looking at the skies, the dragon let out a roar, allowing his siblings to decide who would hunt in his place that night. Then he lowered himself to the ground—he needed rest for what his mother had planned. Daenerys turned and made her way back into the Great Pyramid. She felt lonely. Her children were with Daella and Irri, taking a nap.
Missandei was reviewing battle plans with the Unsullied. Drogo and Arya were strategising with the Dothraki. Obara was being taken care of by her warrior and his twin brother—something Daenerys could raise a glass to.
In her past life, she had not minded being alone—she had lost people before. But now, with so many she cared about, she feared both losing them and her own solitude. Stripping off her dress, she descended into the boiling water, taking a calming breath.
She had missed this. Her handmaidens had infused the bath with jasmine and rose petals, creating a wonderful scent. As she silently soaked, she heard footsteps—too soft to belong to a friend, too loud to be one of her trainers. Grabbing her dagger, she submerged herself in the bath, her hair concealed by the floating petals.
Her suspicions were soon proven correct—a man stood over the bath, his expression angry. He was dressed in Dothraki garments, but his weapon bore the Lannister sigil.
So, they had sent an assassin. But how had he entered? Unless, of course, he had climbed the walls. If that were the case, she would be quite intrigued. As the man turned away, she smirked—he was an amateur. Rising from the water in complete silence, she shoved her dagger through his throat without hesitation.
The sound of blood gurgling as the man fell to his knees and died was almost pleasant to her ears. She grabbed a robe, wrapped it around herself, and called for an attendant. A young woman rushed in, dropping her tray at the sight of the scene and screaming.
Three Unsullied and two Dothraki warriors entered the room, their eyes falling on the corpse in a pool of his own blood, while their Khaleesi stood behind him, her wet robe clinging to her skin, her bloody dagger still in hand.
"Someone find my children and husband. I will need a drink."
That was how Drogo and her friends found Daenerys—sitting in a chair by the bath, still in her white robe, drinking wine. The dagger lay on the table. She looked at them and sighed. "He ruined my bath."
The silence that followed was amusing, but the woman simply continued sipping her wine before standing up.
"I'm going on a trip. I'll be visiting my dear nephew." She then left the room without a care in the world.
Drogo turned to his men, speaking quickly and full of anger. Arya had learned Dothraki, but even she struggled to understand his words.
As the man stormed out of the room, Balerion's loud roar echoed as the dragon took to the skies, his rider's white hair in her customary dragon-rider braids. Her amethyst eyes met his, sparkling with mischief as she disappeared into the setting sun.
It had taken five hours, but she had arrived at Castle Black. Balerion circled the castle before landing in the main courtyard. The men stood still, fear in their eyes at the sight of the dragon. As Daenerys dismounted, a man approached and bowed. "Greetings to the true heir of the throne."
Daenerys smirked and looked at him. "You helped my mother, and for that, the usurper made you take the black. We shall remedy that soon."
Samwell Tarly stared in awe as the woman looked at him and smiled. "Samwell Tarly, I hear you have become a friend to my nephew."
The boy cleared his throat and hurriedly bowed. "Your nephew, Your Grace?"
Her amethyst eyes met dark purple eyes that could be mistaken for black. "I believe, for his safety, he is called Jon Snow."
The crowd now turned to the man, their faces filled with shock and horror. Behind him stood her uncle, who had by now lost his sight.
"Uncle, it seems I visit you before your death. Hello, Nephew—we shall talk of your mother later."
Daenerys approached her uncle and embraced him in a gentle but firm hug. "A dragon alone is a terrible thing in this world, but you were never alone."
The old man clung to his niece, tears in his eyes, before raising his hands to carefully trace her face. "You sound like my mother but look like Rhaella," he said, his voice slow with age and pain for all he had lost.
Daenerys guided him to his bed. "My children could not be here to see you, but I know they would adore you, Uncle. We shall meet again in Valyria," she said softly, honestly, as the man closed his eyes for the last time.
Stepping out of the room, she turned to the Night Commander. "My uncle has passed. He was wise and true—something my father could not handle."
She turned to Balerion, who listened to her pain. "The Wise Dragon has died. We shall mourn him the Valyrian way."
Then she turned to Jon Snow. "Your Uncle Ned knows I am here to tell you the truth. So, shall we?"
As she mounted Balerion, she looked towards the Wall. There was one more thing she had to deal with. Let's see how the Night King would appreciate dragon glass.
