STORMBORN || HOTD

chapter 2

In the final moments of her life, Daenerys Targaryen felt the world around her shatter like a delicate glass, each fragment piercing her heart with the weight of betrayal. The icy steel of the dagger, driven with unforgiving precision by Jon Snow, sliced through her chest, the cold metal a stark contrast to the searing fire that had once been her soul. Each stab was a cruel punctuation mark in a love story that had turned to tragedy, and the excruciating pain was a stark reminder of the trust she had misplaced.

As the blade sank deeper, Daenerys’s world blurred into a maelstrom of visceral agony. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation an effort as she struggled to cling to the fragments of her life. Her vision wavered, the brilliant colors of her beloved Meereen, her dragon's fiery breath, and the lush green of Dragonstone blending into a tumultuous storm of fading memories. In those last moments, her thoughts flitted like frightened birds through a storm, each fleeting image a testament to her life’s journey.

Her heart beat erratically, its rhythm a desperate drum against the encroaching darkness. She recalled the warmth of Khal Drogo's embrace, his strength a comforting anchor in her turbulent world, and the soft gurgles of their child, Rhaego. Their faces appeared to her, ethereal and distant, bathed in the soft glow of the Night Lands, where she had hoped to reunite with them. But the promised peace was cruelly snatched away, replaced by the chilling void of her final breath.

In those waning seconds, Daenerys was consumed by a strange sensation—a profound tightness and an unrelenting wetness, as if she were being compressed into an ever-narrowing space. The familiar roar of dragons, once her own companions, mingled with the eerie echoes of a storm that seemed to follow her descent into darkness. The world outside was a cacophony of muffled sounds, distorted and distant, until they were replaced by the cries of a newborn—a piercing, insistent wail that seemed to beckon her from the abyss.

As the darkness enveloped her, Daenerys’s final thoughts were a mosaic of her life’s fragments. She saw the glint of dragon scales, felt the weight of her crown, and heard the chants of her people. The memories, once vivid and vibrant, now flickered like distant stars, each one a testament to her legacy and power. The sensation of her body growing colder, her breath slowing, and the darkness thickening around her became a surreal canvas of her final moments.

Then, as the veil of death began to lift, Daenerys was thrust into a realm of new sensations. She was pushed through a narrow, constricting passage, her body enveloped by a cold, wet environment that felt foreign and unfamiliar. The overpowering scents of antiseptics and the muted sounds of human voices filled her senses, jarring her from the numbness of death. The intensity of the storm outside had faded into a distant memory, replaced by the gentle murmur of a new world that awaited her.

Her awakening was marked by a soft, soothing voice in her mind—a whisper that seemed to merge with the cries of the newborn. "Welcome, mother of dragons," it murmured, "welcome Azor Ahai, the Chosen One." The voice was both alien and familiar, resonating with the echoes of her past life and the dawning realization of her new existence.

As her senses gradually adjusted, Daenerys’s gaze fell upon the figures surrounding her. Her mother, a striking contrast to her Valyrian heritage with her dark hair and brown eyes, looked down at her with a mixture of awe and tenderness. Her father, appeared every bit the Targaryen, his regal demeanor and loving gaze a comforting presence amidst the confusion.

Alicent’s voice, soft and filled with a mother’s love, whispered Daenerys’s name, sealing the transition from one life to another. "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," she said, the name resonating with a deep, almost mystical significance. It was a name that bridged the chasm between her past and present, marking the beginning of a new chapter in her storied life.

As sleep beckoned her gently, Daenerys’s last thoughts were a swirl of anticipation and wonder. She was enveloped in the warmth and safety of her new existence, the pain of her past life melting away into the promise of a future still unwritten. Her final moments were not of sorrow but of a profound sense of rebirth, a chance to forge a new destiny from the ashes of her former self.