Daenerys Targaryen stood on the edge of the bell tower, gazing through a cracked window pane over the still-smoldering city she had just destroyed; her city. Wails rose from the ruined streets beneath her, the painful cacophony rising up to her, deafening her. Their anguish permeated her very being, coating every one of her thoughts in a thick, heavy mire.

Maybe Viserys had been blessed to die the way he did, long before the madness had truly begun. At least he would never have to face the mothers of those he had sacrificed in pursuit of the Iron Throne. Even though she knew they could not see her tucked away in the cracked and crumbling ruin of a tower, their hatred-filled stares filled her mind, watching her every move and plotting revenge. Heat rose from the embers below, wrapping itself around her like a suffocating robe.

The last time she had felt heat like this had been on the plains of the Red Waste as she led her people on to a salvation they hadn't been sure existed. And as always, with the memory of the Red Waste came the memory of that nightmarish night, of her husband's limp body, his empty eyes staring past hers. The way she had felt his heartbeat under her fingertips but knew that he would never again hold her, kiss her, ride her.

Drogo.

Oh, that she had never trusted that wretched witch. She might still be enfolded in his arms, cradling their child, the Stallion. They could have lived the rest of their lives, Khal and Khaleesi, flying over the Dothraki Sea on horseback, forever free.

But, no. She knew that fate had led her here. Without her child's death and Drogo's demise, she would have never given birth to her dragons, never would have crossed the Narrow Sea, never would have made it here and now to King's Landing, to the Iron Throne. Everything she had done up to this point had been for a reason, had been bringing her closer and closer to her destiny, to the Targaryen throne, her birthright.

She made her way over a small table against the wall, on which stood a goblet and a small tin, a mirror fixed on the wall above it. She stared into the mirror, unable to recognize the ghost staring back at her. She had lost so much weight since Pentos. Her face was narrower, her skin paler, her cheekbones jutting out beneath large, starved eyes, lending her entire appearance an almost reptilian look. Maybe she was slowly turning into the dragon featured in her family's coat of arms.

Hands trembling slightly, she picked up the goblet and downed its bitter contents, then used a small tin sitting next to it to apply a deep scarlet pigment to her lips. She looked back up into the mirror. A stranger stared back at her. Instead of adding vitality to her gaunt face, the color seemed to suck all remaining signs of life from her, leaving behind a deep gash of red across her mouth, her haunted green eyes the only other color present in her ghostly appearance.

A knock startled her from her ruminations. She turned to see Jon being escorted in by three guards, headed by Grey Worm. She nodded to him. "Thank you. You may go".

Grey Worm bowed and the four men retreated from the room. Dany turned her eyes to Jon's face, searching for any inkling of the anger she was sure he was feeling. But if there was any, he didn't show it, though he refused to meet her gaze.

"I had to", she said, so softly at first that she wasn't sure she had actually said it aloud. Giving her head a small shake, she said it louder, more firmly, "I had to."

Jon bowed his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Her heart tightened at his formality. "Jon", she whispered. "Please."

Finally, he lifted his head to meet her gaze, but said nothing, his face a blank slate. Dany saw the way his hair hung limply, his eyes bloodshot from the smoke, and his armor sooty, unpolished. She also saw the dagger at his belt, the way his hand remained close to it at all times. She sighed and turned back to the window. "Do you know what the words of House Targaryen are?"

"No, I can't say I do."

Dany thought of the words that Viserys had spoken over her every night before they went to sleep as children. "Someday, Dany, I will return to Westeros and take back what is mine. Those usurping pigs won't know what hit them. I will take back my kingdom with-"

"Fire and blood", Dany finished the last part out loud to Jon. Turning to him, she said "You're a Targaryen. Our birthright is costly, but it is ours. We cannot allow anyone to take it from us, no one may be allowed to get in the way. These people do not accept me as their queen, so I must make clear that there is no hope of rebellion, no chance of going back to the way things were. We are returning Westeros to the golden age of the Targaryens. And that will require fire and blood. A dragon does not heed the words of weaker men, it does not allow anything to get in the way of its ascent. It burns everything standing in its path." She turned and stepped close to him, cupping his face with her hand and stroking his cheek.

Closer up she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the ash that was caked in every nook and cranny of his tired, lined face. This face that was so familiar, this man that was so dear to her. "Jon", she murmured. "I know you must think I'm a monster, but what I did, I did for the good of this kingdom. A few hundred deaths now will save thousands of lives from pointless and violent uprisings or rebellions." She searched his eyes, begging him to understand. "The dragon's fire is cleansing. Just as gold must be melted down so that it can be reshaped, so too must this kingdom. But when it is complete, it will be more beautiful than it ever was before."

His gaze remained on hers for what felt like an eternity, anguish roiling like thunder in those dark eyes. Finally, he spoke. "I understand", he whispered. But there was no acquiescence in his tone, no submission in his face.

In that moment, Dany knew. He would never understand why she did what she did. He would never be able to support her in what she had to do, would never accept what needed to be done. Her heart felt rent in two, despair pouring into the wound like stinging salt. For a moment, she felt a desperate urge to step away. Her love for him threatened to overwhelm her, but then the dragon reared its head and her resolve returned. She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. For a second, he didn't move, standing still as a statue, but after a few seconds, he relented and kissed her back.

Daenerys didn't know how long they stood there like that, but she tried to put everything she couldn't say into that kiss, tried to make him understand what she had just done, why she had done it. Finally, she broke off, choking down a sob. "I am so sorry, Jon", she whispered, resting her head on his chest, trying to curl into him, to soak in every second she could.

A tremor ran through Jon's body, shaking her. He took a step back, eyes locked on hers before stumbling away, crashing into the small table behind them and sending its contents flying. Sinking to the ground, he gasped for air. Daenerys stood watching as he collapsed, waited for his movements to become quieter, less desperate, before kneeling down next to him. "Please forgive me", she whispered, tears pouring down her cheeks. He locked eyes with her and just one word escaped his lips before his movements stopped altogether:

"Dany."

With that word, grief came crashing down on Daenerys, threatening to crush her where she knelt, and a sob ripped from her throat. She allowed the agony to sweep her away, drown her in its violent surge. She cried until she had spent all her tears, then raised her head to look at his face one last time. Placing her fingertips over his eyelids, she gently shut them and then wiped away a stream of blood trickling from his nose, its red hue matching the blood-red Dornish lipstick she had smeared on his lips with her kiss. "Blood of my blood" she whispered to him, stroking his cheek one final time, before standing and leaving the room.