283 A.C.

Trident

Daeva Naelyria Fyreheart

Naela could feel a whirlwind of emotions, one was sadness. Sadness for Elia and the bad hand she'd been dealt since her marriage to Rhaegar. She also felt anger, anger for not being here when her presence was crucial, as well as anger for not participating in the.

Mayhaps, mayhaps things could have been different had I took part in the reign of the dragons, she thinks, her thoughts continue to cause her sudden pause of motion as she walks along the banks of the Trident's Ford. Mayhaps the dragons would be alive and there wouldn't have been five Blackfyre rebellions.

She also felt hatred; hatred for Rhaegar and his insane desire for prophecy and disregard for his wife and children. As she wandered the banks of the Tridents Ford, stepping over corpses, lost in a daze; she thought about the glory days and also being thrown back into reality by one of her many silent sisters she had brought with her to recover the bodies of the dead loyalist.

She thought of how great of a king Aegon could've been had he lived and she groomed him to do so. She thought of his namesake...all of them...from those princes that should've been and could've been, to those who did take the throne and failed miserably as well as those who succeeded at kingship.

My God, I miss those days, she thought, as she discovered the corpse of the fallen kingsguard Prince Lewyn Martell. "Oh, Lewyn," she peered down at the man's corpse, his white armor now a sickly red-brown. "I promise… you… Jonothor… Elia… Rhaenys… and Aegon… you will all be avenged…"

After a while of collecting and cremating corpses, Naela eventually discovered the Rhaegar's corpse, after collecting the trail of rubies leading right to it. Standing over it, she whispers. "Rot in hell you… you… Damnit!" she lost her words. The main contributor to her current pain was now dead, and she found herself lacking the words that represent her built up frustration. she looks down at him, his eyes still open and it chokes her with grief, because despite all of his wrong-doings, Rhaegar was once like her child, as Aerys and Rhaella were before him and Jaehaerys and Shaera before them. Naela falls to her knees and bawls her eyes out, remembering her own children who were taken from her long ago. She pressed her hand onto Rhaegar's face, closing his eyelids, before bending down to kiss his forehead. When she rose to her feet, she had removed his crimson cloak as well as taken up his sword. the sad look she had just expressed immediately returned to the look of hatred she displayed when she first discovered Rhaegar's corpse.

"Good night my Silver Prince," Naela whispered under her breath. "In the end, you were a selfish, 'mad' prick, but I guess I have myself to blame for that. I gave you the wrong book. If Lyanna really has given you a child, then I will not make the same mistakes I carelessly made with you. the same goes for Viserys. I intend to make him 'Aegon the Conqueror' come again."

For the longest time afterwards, she wondered where Lyanna was. 'The tower,' she remembered then. 'Dorne.'

One of her servants approached her, crying out. "M-My Lady Fyreheart… we have received word that Eddard Stark is on his way to Storm's End to lift the Tyrell Siege." realizing what little time she had to reach the tower in Dorne and save Rhaegar's last child, Naela whistles call for her horse. An unusually large jet black Clydesdale appears. Mounting the great stead, she charges southward with great heist. for nearly 300 years, she has watched the realm go to shit time and time again, knowing she had the power to prevent most of the atrocities that had occurred in that timespan. Now, she intends to rectify all of it.