The Princess of the Flameborn

Summary: In desperate mourning of her husband's death, Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the flames of his funeral pyre, thus causing the birth of the dragons. Little did she know, however, that the fire had woken the other child that lay in her stomach, and that the child would surpass all expectations of the Seven Kingdoms. This is the tale of Vorsannys Targaryen, the princess of the Flameborn.

Disclaimer: I only own Vorsannys and the plotline of this story. Nothing else.

Chapter One

As the sun began to set in the sky, the colours of the horizon were reflected in the tear that fell from the eye of the khaleesi. In the few hours that had spanned the time since the sun had risen the previous morning, Daenerys Targaryen had lost everything she had called precious to her. Khal Drogo, her precious husband, had been so stubborn that his wound had festered and poisoned his blood for the lack of treatment, and she had been so desperate to save the love of her life that she had unwittingly bargained the life of her son in his place, killing the babe before he had even been pulled from her womb, and leaving the khalasar without a khalakka. Everything she had wanted, everything she had needed… all of it was dead and gone.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked the silent air of the tent, speaking, for once, in her native tongue. After a year of living within the masses of the Dothraki, it was strange to speak in the language of Westeros again. It no longer felt right to do so, as if that part of her had been lost when she married her dear Khal, a part that she could not find again. Not without him to guide her. "Why would you leave me in this world alone?"

A rustling of the tent flaps that had nothing to do with the breeze told Daenerys that she was no longer alone. Turning to face the intruder, the woman was instantly calmed from any fears when she caught sight of the metallic gleam of armour. Given the nature of the Dothraki, to rely only on luck and skill, none of her soldiers wore such garments. There was only one she knew of that did, and he was the least likely person alive on the earth to be a threat to her.

"Khaleesi." he greeted, with a bow of his head, as he always did, by habit. Even though she was no longer really a queen, her most loyal followers still addressed her with such a title.

"Ser Jorah." she returned, trying with all her might not to let her tears escape into her voice, as they threatened to do. "What do you require of me?"

"It is time, Khaleesi." the man relied, not hesitating to give the answer she had prayed that she would never have to hear. Jorah opened his mouth to say more, but Daenerys held up a slender hand to stop him. She knew precisely what this statement meant, and did not require an elaboration to bring her closer to tears.

As she exited the tent alongside her protector, the harsh winter's breeze hit the blonde like a shower of arrows, as if drawn to her regal presence, chilling the tear tracks on her face to dryness. The winters were not usually harsh in Pentos, even when living on bare, unsheltered land as the Dothraki were accustomed to doing, but this felt to be the harshest Daenerys had known. 'Perhaps it is just the cold I feel without him.' she told herself, pushing her plaited waves from her eyes, as they reminded her of why she was among the horselords.

Towards the edge of the camp, which had been rather more sparsely populated since Drogo had fallen from his horse, a huge funeral pyre had just been completed, much to the woman's despair. Of course, she wanted for her husband to have the after-death treatment that he had always believed in, but she did not want to let him go. Not yet.

Around the fire, a crowd was gathered, consisting of those who had remained alongside their khaleesi until the end of their khal, as was thought to be proper by most of the khalasars, a great deal of which being those that the people had fled from, when their earlier khal had fallen from his horse. Each of them watched the blonde woman approached the pyre, and a few of the women began to cry as she took the torch from Ser Jorah, lighting it and throwing it down upon the wood, watching as the two circles of it caught alight, and as it finally reached the wood pile that housed the body of her husband, and the three dragon's eggs that she had had placed on his chest and by his side, though for a reason that she would tell no one of.

Determined to enact the plan that she had made, Daenerys took a single step forwards, and immediately felt the pressure of a steadying hand at the top of her arm, as if preventing her from walking any further towards the flickering light. She did not need to turn to see that it was her loyal bear who had tried to stop her.

"My queen, do not do this." he implored, his eyes as pleading as was his tone. "Your husband would not have wanted for you to die alongside him."

"Ser Jorah, you cannot stop me." she told him, her voice as cold and emotionless as she could force it to be. "I will return from the flames, I know that I will."

"Khaleesi, you approach that pyre and you will burn alongside Drogo!" he exclaimed, knowing that the claim would be the final chance he had to convince the Targaryen girl of her madness. However, when she turned to him, her face showing an expression that told him clearly how unwilling she was to bend her will in this matter, Jorah knew that there was no hope for his pleas.

"You need not worry, my good ser." Daenerys told him, though the both of them truly knew that it was futile to say such things, as he, at least, certainly did not believe that it would happen. "I am a dragon, and fire cannot kill a dragon."

With no other words, she stepped straight into the fire, immediately being enveloped in the dancing flames as the khalasar looked on in horror. However, they did not know of the magical curse being broken, and the life that was being returned to the womb of the khaleesi.

The dragon child was stirring.

A/N: My first ever ASOIAF fic, so please review! I want to know if you like it so far.