The Dragon's Sister || Game Of Thrones (Under Rewrite)

Episode 5: Kings Landing (Finale)

Hundreds of years ago, the skies of Kings Landing were very much different than they were today. Dragons of many sizes and ages flew around the capitol, and people would look up in to see a shadow hovering past them. Foes would tremble in fear of being washed out by flame and blood, but people would be in awe and wonder to see such a creature nearby. 

   Until the Dance of the Dragons occurred, and of the twenty dragons that lived, only four would survive after the dance. Soon, all people across Westeros and the Narrow Sea would turn away at the sight or glimpse of the smaller ones left, haunted by what fires were spread and what burned in the flames. 

   Once, the dragons were loved, then they were hated, then they died. 

   Until Daenerys Stormborn brought forth four clutches of eggs from stone into fire-made flesh. The three dragons she would raise, love, and care for as her children, as would Vaerya do for the fourth. 

   Thus, the Mother of Dragons and the Unburnt came to be, riding what many believed to be Balerion's reincarnation--Drogon, The Winged Shadow. 

   But unlike in which Balerion lived for two hundred years, fate would not be reflective on its predecessor. From the scrolls written by Maesters of the citadel, Balerion had never been injured, overwhelmed, nor fallen from the skies. 

   Drogon had and was indeed falling from above. 

   When rider and dragon met the burning roads of Kings Landing, buildings and innocents crumbled beneath Drogon's weight, a cloud of dust, rubble and blood mixing in with flames of green. When the dust settled, Drogon laid weakly on his belly, helpless to move as a river of black blood spilled from his shoulder and belly. 

   But only Drogon was wounded. Daenerys, though dazed and frightened, had come out with only bruises instead of cuts or scars. As they fell down, Drogon had tilted midair at the last minute to land on his stomach rather than his back, where his mother would have died upon impact, if not, fallen off of him. 

   Drogon gave out a whimper as Daenerys slid to his side and pressed down on his bleeding flesh, his tail waving around as if trying to defend her from any nearby attackers. The Dragon Queen then spun around. 

   Hundreds of feet away, amidst the collapse of the capitol's walls and buildings, came a wave of Lannister men; City, Goldcloak, and Queensguard alike approaching to cut down their attacker--Cersei's final present to her greatest enemy. 

   Without realizing, Daenerys was surrounded by her own army, of Unsullied and Dothraki, daring a final defense of their Queen and her downed dragon. But neither the approaching footsteps nor desperate cry from Greyworm for her to leave reached Daenerys's ears, her mind was drowned out by her thoughts. 

   She had thought on it, on doing what her sister, her hand, and many of her friends and followers had begged her not to--she had thought of burning Kings Landing. She had thought of punishing those responsible for the deaths of those she loved so dearly; Viserion, Missendei, Rhaegal, and many others had died all by the swift raise of Cersei's hand. 

   She wanted not only to kill Cersei in blood and fire, but to grant it to those still in the city, still in its broken walls, still begging for mercy. How many times had Daenerys begged for mercy and was met with none? How many times had people she trusted the most turned against her? How many lives were lost for her simple idealization to claim a throne crafted by her own ancestors?