The history books will remember Rheanrya as a horror, as a nightmare, as an evil thing. The artists would render her stocky, a caricature of who she was. The songs would exploit her, finding malicious deeds with every sideways glance. They would label her as an adulterer, a tyrant, and exploit every passing fancy. Rheanrya Targaryen would be remembered as a woman who thought herself queen. The Bitch Queen. As Meagor with Teets. As Visenya Remade. But the history books are written by enemies and men. Through death and blood, representing the long line of Targaryens who paved her way, she would set the realm on fire to sit on her father's throne. She would claim the greatest and largest dragon in the world. The realm was doomed from the moment she placed her hand upon Vhagar's scales. She'd make it bleed before handing her crown to a usurper. [This story will feature a divergence from the history books. A reimagining of events told through the eyes of Eustice and Mushroom.]