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“Hae se mele tubis iksos se lektos cracks se jēdar.”

It was never truly cold within Dragonstone, the thermal forces rising from the depths which had made it the ideal outpost of the Targaryen lineage searing the cave systems with heat. However, when she spoke those words, the same heat seemed to leech out of the air, rushing into twin wooden effigies, their wicker forms soon lighting with a fire which robed the rest of the room of colour.

“Hail to you, Aegon Targaryen,  King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, known to us as the Conqueror.” The speaker knelt on both knees before the twin fires, watching the steady progress of immolation rise up the figures within. As the magic she worked pulled its power from the land around it, it also pulled on her, the age in her bones beginning to ache with pain. It was not a regular sensation for her, but for these moments she had to allow the ravages of time to steadily march on.

“Hail to you, Queen Rhaenys, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of Dragonstone.” It had only been in recent years that she had lit this second candle, the faintest of hope remaining that she might see the true face of its image again. But then, the fire had lit, and her hope had failed. The speaker was silent for a moment, keeping her head dipped, before she made to rise. Despite the pain that flared through her, she managed it in one motion, as defiant against that as any other she had faced in her life.

“Fair Eve, my loves.” When she spoke again, some of that strength rushed out of Visenya, standing before the images of her siblings as equals, rather than the subservience the nature of the spellwork required. The figures were carved as she remembered them, Aegon in his advancing years, still bearing the strength of his form, but still, slowly, collapsing into the softness that even athletic men of advancing age can rarely suppress entirely. Rhaenys was still as she had been when she had been stolen, taken in the prime of her life. It had been many long years, but she could recall every curve and line of her smile, and worked it into the wood which steadily burned.

“I need your guidance….or perhaps simply your company. I am sorry to trouble your rest beyond with such things, but you cannot begrudge me this.” Suddenly, a small amount of the warmth returned to the room, rushing through her. For a moment she thought the ritual had failed, but then she laughed, a rare noise. The warmth was not the fires of Dragstone returning, they were with her. “Thank you.” She breathed softly, a hand brushing over her own features.

“Your plan to have these people accept us is failing, Aegon, these men of Westeros and their Seven Gods, that you both cared to placate.” The King himself had taken to working some of the devices of the Seven onto his own arms and armour. When she had recreated his effigy, she could not bring herself to do so, bearing only the three headed dragon which was their symbol. The only symbol which mattered. “I warned you, the only way they would learn was through our way, Fire and Blood. That is how we could save this world. We gave them slackness on their leash, and now they have turned to bite us…. But it is only me of us who will feel those teeth.” Her tone was sorrowful, as opposed to condemning. She wished they had been right, or more, she wished they were will with her.

“How much longer must I linger here, my dearest? These long years without you both, living among Andal Savages, who have the arrogance to call our blood abominations? This land, it has tainted our children. I took Maegor away, perhaps there is some hope for him, but your son, he is more of this land than ours, he does not act.” Something of the warmth in the room receded again, yet the fires grew brighter. She felt judgment there, rebuke from those who watched from the great flames of the Beyond. “Do you not think I have tried? That I have not given council to him? If the time of the Song is coming, this land will fall. All the dragonfire we can muster could not save it.” While she might look a woman of almost half her age, in the moment she felt all seven decades of her long life weighing on her, a life where those she fought most to protect had often ignored her council, no more so than now. “Please…It would be so easy to join you…the Song may come to pass, it may not, I do not care. What is this land but a reminder that I alone still stand to hold true to your vision, brother?” The fires flared brighter, forcing her away, even as the wood consumed itself at a greater rate. She had never feared heat, but she could not withstand this assault. With a paniced gasp, she relented.

“Then I will do what I must. The King must be strong, for what is to come.”