Daenerys stood bare beneath the setting sun. Nicoletta and Roarke were busy with other matters, leaving her on her own for this moment. She had finally taken off her gold and jewelry. It was impractical for the desert. There was no point in pretending to be somewhere that she wasn't.
Her dragons flew about in the sun's last golden rays. From time to time she saw one dive for the ground, undoubtedly hunting for some small animal skittering between the stones. Her children grew larger every day, it seemed. They had only recently began to hunt on their own and yet Drogon already now fed himself almost entirely on his own kills. She was proud of them, her fierce children. Soon they would emerge from the desert and into more fertile lands, where her children could feast and she could finally rest from her exertions.
Staring off into the distance, she thought of her brother Viserys. He had been a brother and something of a father for her, her only family in the land of strangers that they had been exiled to. She told herself that she cared about him, but that part of her felt empty and still. He had driven them away in the desert, knowing fully well that they would likely die from it. Ironically enough, they had lived and she suspected that Viserys as the one that had died. He was not one to easily gain or accept help from strangers.
She did not mourn as much as she thought she would the thought of Viserys' passing. She tried to call up the emotions she thought she should feel, but they were simply not there. Viserys had always called himself a king, and he was probably nothing more than a parched husk in the desert now.
If he was king and now has died, does that make me queen now?
Their father, Aerys Targaryen, was long dead. Her eldest brother Rhaegar had left her and Viserys as children. He never returned for them and eventually they realized that Rhaegar was likely dead as well. That left Viserys as the last surviving Targaryen, calling himself king of a realm that would kill them if they set hoof in it. Now even Viserys was gone.
Queen.
There was no one left but her, the final dragon from a once powerful dynasty. That thought should have driven Dany to despair, but instead she could feel something harden within herself. She was the last. She was finally out of people to entrust her future too. She was the last, and her kingdom awaited her across the sea under the rule of the foul usurper that had shattered her family and their realm.
She saw Drogon and Rhaegal darting and snapping at each other mid-air. She gasped a little when she saw a lance of flame erupt from Drogon's mouth much larger than she had ever seen him manage before.
Her children grew strong, and so did she. Daenerys' gaze swept from her dragons to her two companions, where they rested and conversed. It was a small start, but it was a start. Her dragons would grow and so would her following. Some day she would return to Westeros and retake what was hers.
She was the last dragon queen, and she would take back what was stolen from her with fire and blood.
