Prologue

The wind is howling over the field, the banners and cloaks of the soldiers behind her almost getting ripped to shreds. The sound of the trees groaning in the storm is all she can hear for a moment.

Melantha tilts her head back, closing her eyes as the watery sun dances behind her closed eyelids. And for a second she wishes they were back in Old Valyria, before everything became complicated. Just her and Drogon. Nothing else.

She raises her arms with her palms open, praying to whatever god that is still out there to help her. Some hairs of her long dark mane, braided in a crown on her head, much like Drogon's mother used to have, and the long braid that falls down her back, brush against her cheeks, though they are kept in place by the crown and earrings she wears.

The crown is a monstrosity, made of black steel and black and red gems, angry spikes going towards the sun, as if reaching for the wane light it provides. It is not a pretty crown, not made for a gentle queen. It is just another reminder to her enemies that Melantha is a dragon's consort.

Her long black and red earrings bounce against her neck, as she looks before her, eyes open and zeroing in on Sansa and her retenue that approach. She looks down at her dress, trying to calm her thundering heart, once more bitter and angry at the battle that will be thrust upon her. A war she does not want.

Sansa's eyebrows raise when she sees what the young woman, queen some call her, is wearing. She is not wearing battleready clothes, oh no. She wears a long black dress, much like the style Cersei used to wear, something akin to a fur shawl draped over her neck and shoulders.

Her black dress is just as brutal as her crown, lined and filled with black/red gems and steel, an armor in itself. Her black dress billows around her, a black belt with precious red gems fastened around her middle, black chains falling down her dress with red gems in them. They clink when they collide against each other, whenever she moves.

She can hear Drogon growling, as she takes a breath, wrapping her fur shawl closer around her. He is always close, these days. Too scared something will happen to her, like what happened to his mother. He was a fraction too late, trusted someone he shouldn't have, and she knows he feels guilty about it. Still does.

Melantha starts marching towards Sansa, who has dismounted her horse and is waiting, a sneer on the queen in the North's face. Greyworm follows her, Drogon's wings vibrating with every step, teeth bared as his head appears next to his consort's head.

The silence is only disturbed by the howling wind, Sansa looking with icecold anger at this stranger, who dares call herself a dragon's consort and queen. 'We ask you stop this right now. Declare yourself as the loser of this battle and you will walk free.'

Melantha lets out a bitter laugh, eyes veiled. 'But Drogon will not, will he? Since your brother, as the last Targaryen, still thinks he has any claim to him.'

Sansa shares a look with Jon, who looks at Drogon, who has taken to hissing in warning.

Melantha looks down, something akin to sadness appearing on her face. 'I only ever asked to leave me, us, alone. I never wanted to be called usurper, even less a dragon's consort and queen.'

Sansa lets out a snort at that, and whatever chance they would've had at a peaceful solution, is gone. Jon sees it the moment Melantha's face closes off, a bitter look on her face.

She turns and looks at Drogon, who makes a soft noise in his throat and butts his cheek against hers, as Melantha closes her eyes. Her gloved hand holds his snout, tremors going through her fingers. She takes a moment and allows Drogon's fire and love to give her strength, knowing he will do all he can to protect her.

'I never wanted any of this.' she says, as Drogon curls around her and lies down, Melantha grabbing the scales on his neck. 'You started this war.' she points at Sansa, jewels clinking with the shaking of Melantha's head.

'You wanted more than you could have.'

She closes her eyes as she remembers her conversation with Bran, the three eyed raven looking with something like sadness to her.

'You have to fullfill your destiny.' Bran says, as Melantha shakes her head, looking at the burning King's Landing beneath them.

'I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be dragon's consort or queen. Especially not queen.' Bran hums. 'You have no choice. You were meant to be queen. You and Drogon will bring peace to this world.'

Melantha takes a shuddering breath, her eyes falling on Drogon, who is roaring in anger at the last remaining soldiers. 'Seven Gods have mercy on anyone who dares to touch you, because he will burn the world if he has to, to keep you safe.'

'You started this war.'

Melantha repeats, as she turns, her long dark hair bouncing with every step. Her grey eyes are simmering with anger and so many other emotions, for a moment Jon even thinks there is fire burning in her eyes.

She stops at Drogon's wing, her head just visible behind the dragon's neck and head. She turns her head a fraction, so her face is visible, the dragon before her starting to growl louder and louder in anger. Her lips curl back into a disgusted sneer, one hand on Drogon's neck, the other balled into a fist.

Drogon's growling has reached a crescendo, teeth bared as Melantha mounts him and sits on his back, Drogon lying down so she is visible for all to see. Her eyes seem to bore into Sansa's, the queen in the North looking down as she shudders, shocked by the mere anger and hate that seems to come off of Melantha in waves.

Melantha sneers, face an angry mask as she throws one last look at the Northmen before her, soon disappearing into the clouds as Drogon jumps up with a roar.

It is the words she speaks however, a warning veiled as a threat, that shocks Sansa and Jon, both looking uneasily at each other. The rest of their retenue quiet down, a heavy silence fallen over the group as they see Melantha's armies ready for battle. Only now do they realise what kind of Pandora's box they have opened.

'You will forgive me for finishing it.'