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One, …

Frost spread on the door as the air got colder and colder. Her men must be all dead, and now everything was deathly still. She huffed and grabbed the armrest of her throne with her right hand as she saw her white breath. And grabbed it tighter still – until blood began flowing down the stone – as the door cracked open. Ceaseless was her stare, as she would not flinch in the face of her own death – the white walker adorned with a crown of ice.

He walked towards her as she watched him. He formed a spear made from ice as she watched him. And he stabbed her through the stomach with his spear as she watched him.

Then she smiled. And let the torch fall from her left hand. Moments later- green, green everywhere.


Two, …

Cersei Lannister had always been proud, from the moment she knew she was a Lannister to the moment she had been crowned Queen to the moment she chose death by her own hand, taking her killer with her.

“It wasn’t the wildfire. It was the volcano.” he would explain later.

“You were the last living thing.” he would tell her, and she would smile and be proud.

“There may be a chance to save this world.” He began his explanation, and she listened.

Listened as he told her of curses used to kill, all of them backfiring horribly. Listened as he told her of dragons, who were useless against him and his, but still had other uses. Listened as he told her of magic, of deals, and of trades, and of ten dragon eggs shredded in a green explosion.


Three, …

When Cersei Lannister was born, born anew, the midwife hid her in cloth. Later her mother cried over her. Cried because of the translucent scales dotting her skin. Later the mother cried because of her slit pupils in eyes of fire. Later she cried because of gold and white horns growing on her daughter’s head.

Then the crying stopped, the mother died giving birth. The little girl, who was Dragon, wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. She was hidden so well; the world believed her dead. (And a mother couldn’t cry anymore when her daughter grew talons – deadly, beautiful talons, who were just perfect for killing.)


Four, …

But you can’t cage a dragon, you can’t tame it, you can’t hide it (it will always grow too large). The King (not her King, she was Queen) asked for her and his hand delivered. Cersei looked upon her father whom she had loved once, looked at his relief as she was gifted to the King, straightened her back even more (always proud), and walked. A young woman, beautiful in her nonhumanness, with harsh eyes, walked towards a King from a bygone era, a corpse who still breathed.


Five, …

They gave her the eggs when she asked. They brought her to Dragonstone (she could feel the ache of piercing spear and consuming fire). They let her take even more eggs from the vault.

She took the eggs and searched.


Six, …

There was a dry husk (an unfortunate soul who lost all blood, being roasted on lava) and there were eggs on an altar deep in the earth. No human was able to follow Cersei as she brought her eggs here, no one could stand the heat. She carefully placed the eggs covered in blood alongside her sacrifice. She set the altar on fire and counted.


Seven. Seven eggs cracked open, and seven little dragons stumbled towards her. They were so little, smaller than any human baby, and all of them chirping in high tones about hunger and about the delicious smell coming from the bucket at the feet of the white-and-gold Dragon staring at them.


Years passed by, and her dragons grew. The king was easily deceived into thinking them under his rule, and so their growth was uninterrupted.

Years passed by, and Cersei plotted. She was Queen, and queens ruled and tolerated neither impostors nor rivals.

Years passed by, until finally the time was right. Westeros was going to be hers.


Ten regions left.

Like Aegon Targaryen she started from Dragonstone, and as before, the Crownlands were first to fall. The Red Keep and the Iron Throne melted, the impostor and his family with it.


Nine regions left.

Next, she (once again) came for those who killed her eldest son. However, unlike when the Dragon Queen was there, no second field of fire happened. No. It wasn’t the fields who were burning (food was sacred, needed for survival in winter). It was the castles who burned, if they didn’t surrender fast enough. In the end some Tyrell came and gave her the Reach and all its inhabitants.


Eight regions left.

Next. she turned back; her late husband’s family was surely missing her. They tried to fight her, but it was to no avail. Who could stand against seven dragons who were free to do what they wanted and the army of the Reach behind them?


Seven regions left.

She would not suffer enemies standing behind her, so she went to the south, to the desert. They had had time to prepare and thought that she would fail where others had failed before. But those others had wanted to conquer, she wanted to possess. She was happy to rule over ashes and nothing else. She was Dragon. When she took a city or holdfast and nobody was there, she waited for the night and let her dragons search for light of an army not her own. Then dragon fire would light up the night sky, the screams of the dying accompanying it. They tried to hide by not using any fire during the night, but humans still smelled. They tried to hide in caves, and she collapsed all entries and went further south. Dorne didn’t bow to her, Dorne didn’t bend to her wishes, Dorne stayed unbroken, Dorne was dead.


Six regions left.

When she came back from the south, her father came and knelt.


Five regions left.

Some days later, the Riverlands were hers after they knelt.


Four regions left.

Some of her dragons went up and brought back falcons.


Three regions left.

Some of her dragons went to the sea and brought back squids.


Two regions left.

Paths converged again, as House Stark knelt before the might of dragons.


One region left.

Further north she went, with dragons circling overhead and an army at her back. She came for the people north of the wall, who eventually learned how to kneel, but she gave them barely any attention. She came for her rival, her killer, her last victim, and her strongest teacher. She came for him with the fire of a volcano burning in her and in her dragon’s breasts. She brought with her the might of a continent under one rule, brought the strength of a soil drenched in blood, but brought no army of men. Steam erupted as fire and earth and blood met ice, until finally ice broke and lost. Finally, she killed him with her own talons, after the death of all the other dragons. She buried her hand in his chest and ripped out the dagger who gave him his second life.



The Queen had ordered them to stand back, with the same absentmindedness that had gripped her the first time she had turned her gaze northwards. They stood their grounds as they saw the mist and the falling dragons, as they heard the sounds they couldn’t understand. Even as they saw the birth of a new volcano, they stayed. (Nobody alive was someone who dared to go against the orders of the Queen.) They quivered in fear as they heard the screech of a dragon and saw one flying from the volcano towards them. Its colours were white and gold, and as it stood before them, it began to speak in the voice of the Queen.