Pentos. Magister Illyrio's manse.
The instant Lynn's consciousness withdrew—that abyssal indifference in Daenerys's eyes shattered.
Violet pupils refocused, returning to habitual timidity and confusion.
She looked blankly at her seemingly frightened brother, mind empty.
What happened?
She only remembered being in the bathhouse—how did she suddenly reach the bedroom?
That middle segment of memory—as if someone carved it out.
Viserys saw fear resurface in his sister's eyes. He froze first.
Then—massive humiliation mixed with fury rushed to his head.
He'd just... been frightened by this girl's gaze?
By this sister he'd beaten and scolded since childhood, who dared not even speak loudly—frightened into retreating by one look?
Ridiculous!
An insult to his "dragon's blood"!
"You dare look at me like that?"
Viserys's face twisted with rage.
That somewhat handsome face—now exceptionally vicious.
He raised his hand sharply.
CRACK!
A crisp slap echoed through the room.
Force snapping Daenerys's head sideways—five clear finger marks instantly appearing on pale cheeks.
Ears ringing. Metallic sweetness in mouth.
Daenerys was stunned.
She covered her face, looking at her brother in disbelief.
She didn't understand.
She'd done nothing—why another beating?
"You have woken the dragon!"
Viserys stepped forward, grabbing Daenerys's chin, forcing her head up.
Viserys's nails nearly embedding in Daenerys's flesh—that madness and violence in his eyes making her body ice-cold.
"Look at me! Daenerys!"
"You're just a whore! I let you live to this day! I gave you silk to wear, hot soup to drink!"
"Tonight—you must please that savage! Make him willingly hand over his army!"
"Even if his entire horde takes you—even every horse in his khalasar—I'd allow it!"
"Understand?!"
Vicious words—like sharpest razors—cutting into Daenerys's heart.
Daenerys dared not resist. Dared not cry.
Only under those mad eyes—like a puppet—desperately nodding.
"I... understand."
"Hmph!"
Seeing her return to meek obedience—that evil fire in Viserys finally subsided.
He released his grip, disgustedly wiping fingers on her magnificent silk gown—as if touching something filthy.
"Remember your place."
Viserys elegantly adjusted his collar, resuming that arrogant "Dragon King" posture, turning and striding away.
Leaving all the room's wreckage and degradation to that frail girl behind.
SLAM.
The door closed heavily.
Daenerys's body softened, sliding down the wall onto cold marble floor.
She hugged her knees, burying her face deeply, long-suppressed tears finally silently falling.
Cheeks burning with pain—but far less than her heart.
Waking the dragon.
Always waking the dragon!
Since childhood, she'd grown in this phrase's shadow.
Any displeasure, any rebuttal—earning brother's beatings and this phrase.
She'd had enough.
Truly enough.
But what could she do?
Viserys was her only family—House Targaryen's only hope for restoration.
He was House Targaryen's true dragon.
And her born mission—seemingly helping brother produce heirs.
But now—to reclaim that Iron Throne—he'd marry her to Drogo.
A savage who spoke no Common Tongue, who ate raw meat!
Tears blurred vision.
Unknown how long passed.
Daenerys finally supported herself against the wall, shakily standing.
She walked to the vanity, wanting ice to compress swollen cheeks.
At least—couldn't let that Dothraki khal see this wretched appearance.
However—her gaze was drawn to an open book on the table.
"The Song of Dragon and Fire."
Her favorite storybook—recording ancient Valyrian heroes and dragons.
But now—opened to the blank flyleaf.
Upon it—written in black ink—several lines in extremely familiar handwriting.
Valyrian.
Also her own handwriting.
Daenerys's breathing caught.
She extended trembling hands, touching the cold page.
She... didn't remember writing these things.
Confused, she leaned forward, reading word by word.
[True dragon's blood should not be lost in the grass sea.]
[Your destiny—not the savage king who rides horses,]
[But from the land of eternal winter, the true king who commands the three-headed ice dragon.]
She stood frozen, heart full of shock.
Isn't this her handwriting?
When did she write this?
Her heart pounded madly in her chest—nearly leaping from throat.
Daenerys continued reading.
[He will awaken from legends where stars fell,]
[Cross the poison sea, bringing Northern cold winds and frost.]
[With ice and snow's kiss, awaken the burning blood sleeping within you.]
Ice and snow's kiss...
Daenerys's cheeks inexplicably warmed.
As if those cold words carried peculiar warmth.
This wasn't a warning at all.
More like a love poem.
Her gaze finally fell on the last line.
[The prince is in the West.]
West.
Not the barren grass sea in the East.
But West—toward the Seven Kingdoms. Toward home.
Daenerys's body trembled uncontrollably.
This wasn't her delusion.
This was divine prophecy!
Her Targaryen ancestors—through her hand—wrote this oracle!
They couldn't bear seeing Targaryen blood defiled by a savage horse lord!
They pointed her true direction—prophesied her true destiny!
A king from the North...
A prince... who commands three-headed ice dragons.
This thought—like lightning—tearing through her decade-long dark life!
Always, she'd lived in the cage Viserys wove.
For that illusory Iron Throne—she must sacrifice everything, including herself.
But this oracle told her.
No.
Her fate shouldn't be thus!
She wasn't goods to trade for armies!
At least one prince would become her beloved!
An unprecedented force surged from her heart's deepest depths.
Daenerys snapped the book shut—hiding a world-shaking secret.
She hurried to the mirror.
Looking at that girl with swollen cheeks—yet frighteningly bright eyes.
Fear remained.
Fear of Viserys—bone-deep.
But in that swamp of fear—something entirely different had sprouted.
She gently touched her still-burning cheeks with fingertips, then touched her ice-cold lips.
Ice and snow's kiss...
What kind of prince would she meet?
But tonight—she must still meet that Dothraki khal.
What should she do?
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