𝔗𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄
0. THE DRAGON'S DAUGHTER

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⋆｡˚﹕𝟣𝟥𝟣 𝖠𝖢 ⎯ 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖣 𝖪𝖤𝖤𝖯

A TARGARYEN QUEEN stands alone against a rocky shoreline. A dress of brilliant red and golden embroidery hugs her frame, it is heavy in its finery. The dress had once belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen ⎯⎯⎯ her mother. Waves crash against the shore with a mighty roar. A thousand images flash before her mind's eye. All are from a lifetime ago. The girl from years ago that she had buried deep within her and that screamed and pleaded to resurface within her watery grave. The family she had and lost and all that remains. A great love that she had let destroy her in fire and ash.

Above the clouds, in the very edge of her eyesight is the Bronze Fury, Vermithor. Unlike his mate Silverwing, Vermithor was not riderless. He was Aemma's bonded dragon after the death of her beloved brother Lucerys Velaryon torn to peices along side his Dragon Arrax and ruining of her dragon Firedancer at Shipbreaker bay. There were very few dragons left after all.

Some would recount that the Dance of the Dragons had ruined Aemma forever. She had become frail despite her youth and some would say her beauty tarnished through the ugly, long healed scars from many of battles. Yet, Aemma was strong-willed and cunning, protective of her birthright and the legacy of her mother and House Targaryen that remained on her shoulders.

Aemma still thought of him after all this time ⎯⎯⎯ of her husband Aegon. She loved him. She would have sailed away never to be found again living on nothing but exotic fruits and drank the finest of wines with him if he had asked. She wished that together they had succeeded ⎯⎯⎯ that they had lived happily, dousing themselves in all of life's pleasures and opportunities.

Deep down she had hoped that her marriage to Aegon would have brought the end to the division between their two families and unite their house. That some understanding would have weaved its way through over time. Aemma's knew her grandsire had thought all had been reconciled by the time of his death. How could things have changed so quickly?

It is saddening how some dreams are fleeting and short.

She missed her mother. And her dear brothers. She missed what could have been and what was rightfully her own. Aemma knew that she wasn't meant to descend the Iron Throne. Not in this way. Not when the realm was in great despair and suffering.

The crown of her ancestors had fallen in her hands bloody, battered and heavy in the losses and destruction it had caused in its wake.

Fear of conflict or war startled Aemma. She was seen as gentle, delicate unable to support suggestions or calculating strategies at the little council. Yet, in turn Aemma was fearful of what could happen to her family, her only daughter. But there was nothing Aemma would do to protect her family. Even if it meant becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It gave her a chance to right the wrongs, ensuring that the first born child no matter the gender was now heir to the Iron Throne.

There is a womanly figure standing behind Aemma. A friend. The very thought of it is bitter, trusting someone again. Allowing herself to be within the Red Keep without growing anxious, longing for one of the places she has called home throughout her life Dragonstone or Driftmark. Anywhere but the halls filled with ghosts and haunting memories.

The Red Queen was what the realm called her. No longer the Jewel of the Realm or Aemma the Valorous as she was called in the days of her youth. Those days are far gone now. Merely as whisper in the wind. A tale to tell to her only daughter.

Crumbled and blue, Aemma turns.

       "My Queen," says a soft and musical voice standing a few feet behind her. It was her Lady-in-Waiting Elinda Massey. Aemma's most dearest and loyal companion. "It is time."