The setting sun hung low on the horizon, drowning the battlefield in an eerie crimson glow, thousands of grey blades and plate-armors reflecting the sunrays. In the distance, the water of the ocean surrounding the capital sparkled even more beautifully than the steel below. Yet right now Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Meereen and Mother of Dragons did not have any room to spare for the distant beauty of the ocean and sunset.

Instead her violet eyes were locked onto the battlefield below, her silvery mane flowing behind her as she flew across the sea of screaming and fighting soldiers, riding the largest of the her three dragons. Once upon a time her ancestors had conquered these lands just like this, riding their dragons and spreading fire and blood upon their enemies. Every child knew the stories about Balerion the Black Dread, the largest of three dragons, one single of his teeth as large as a grown man, his body so big it could block out the sun. She was not riding Balerion, but in her mind none creature could be more fierce than Drogon, her very own Black Dread. Most importantly, this time it was not a conquest, but rather a liberation, the sole purpose to recapture the lands of her ancestors - which were rightfully hers to begin with - and free them from the hands of corrupt and vicious lords.

Her eyes narrowed as Drogon soared over an enemy contingent, well behind the battleline so her own soldiers would not get caught up in what was about to follow. "Dracarys." Her light voice was firm and steady, a stern command. Far too quiet to hear for the men down below, but they were not intended for men's ears in the first place. Only for Drogon's, and the result of her command would become apparent soon enough. And the gigantic lizard obeyed instantly. She could feel the fire building in his core, the scales heating before, with a deafening roar, the black dragon unleashed an inferno of fire onto the men below, rays of fire lashing past her. But she was not worried, wearing inflammable clothing, sturdy leather specifically woven for battle on dragon back, brown breeches and tunic along with hard-soled combat boots. Besides, she was the blood of the dragon and fire was her element.

Just behind her, flanking either side of Drogon's rear her other two dragons, moss-green Rheagal and creamy white Viserion instantly followed the lead of Drogon, unleashing their own infernos. Even up here she could feel the heat radiating from the burning ground, a thousand shrill voices of Lannister soldiers roasting in their armor reaching her ears, their formations breaking. It was music to her ears.

Allowing Drogon to breathe fire until she knew he was spent and needed to recharge, she tucked the reins in her hands, commanding him to change course, flying upwards and to the side in a wide arc so he could recuperate and gather more flames in his core, the other dragons following Drogon's example.

Meanwhile, her own armies in the back, comprised of sellswords, Dothraki and perfectly drilled Unsullied - the finest warriors in the world -, knew exactly what to do, taking advantage of the hostile armies disarray, to push forward in unity and break through the Lannister frontline. At this rate victory would be achieved in no time and she'd finally regain what was hers, by right! A smile, uncharacteristically happy and innocent, a stark contrast to the regal expression she was forced to wear so often, broke across her face as she momentarily closed her eyes, enjoying the wind drifting through her long flowing hair.