The Breaking of Daenerys Targaryen

BY : AryaStarkNaked
Category: A through F > A Song of Ice and Fire
Dragon prints: 63567
Disclaimer: I clearly don't own ASOIAF, or any character from within. I make no money off it. This subject matter may be extreme! Read at your own risk.

As Daenerys Targaryen's mind finally swum back into consciousness, her eyelids remained heavy over her purple eyes and as she laid on the cold and uncomfortable stone, huddling in the corner, her foggy mind was still not sure of what happened. Blinking her eyelashes slowly, her first fully formed thought was that she wasn't on Drogon's back anymore, leading her army. Quickly following that first thought, a second bore through her mind; she had gone blind, and panic chased through her heart. Her pale hands reached out and padded around her, searching for anything to soothe her mind. As her purple eyes blinked continually, the panic slowly slunk out of her heart only to be replaced by a creeping fear; she was not blind, she was in a dark, dark prison cell.



Lifting herself on wobbly and sore legs, the Mother of Dragons slowly circled the prison, feeling the rough stone walls slip by against her soft, soft skin. Circling the room didn't take long, it was barely ten foot on a side, and they were all - Daenerys thought to the best of her abilities - identical hewn stone, save for the cold metal door on one side. Her lithe, small body ached, and she leaned it against the door. Gathering her rather lacking strength, her small fists uselessly beat on the door, and her cry of "Help! Help!" barely penetrated to the other side.



The fact that there was no reply from the door grew her anger as every minute passed, just as Daenerys’ arms grew weaker, and her fists finally stopped beating on the door. Daenerys rested her forehead against the metal door, and cursed under her breath. The time beating against the unyielding metal at least gave her time to think, and remember where she was before here; riding on Drogon, and giving battle to the final resistance to her invasion of Westeros; the North. The rest of the kingdoms had either allied themselves with her, or bent the knee. Even her nephew bent his banners for her claim. Only Winterfell had held out against her. The door gave a loud click and jolted Daenerys out of her memories as it was unlocked and opened, just as the silver-blonde haired woman stepped back, narrowly missing the heavy door as it was thrown open. 



Daenerys’ eyes squinted in pain at the torchlight from outside her cell, and she raised an arm over her eyes to protect herself. Her royal blue dress that she had been wearing into battle on top of Drogon still covered her, but was stained by grass and torn in places. Her hair, long and lucious, was dirt-stained and mangled. Peering through her fingers at the figure in the doorway, the Queen took a step forward and began "Do you know who I am? I am Quee-"



The word was half out of her mouth before the man struck her with his fist, and pain blossomed on her cheek as she staggered back against the wall from the force of the blow. In a sing-song voice, the young man spoke, "No, you're not."



Her world swam in shock and surprise at being struck, and a memory of her long-dead brother flickered across her mind, before being shoved back down, "You dare strike -"



Again the words were barely out of her mouth as his other fist drove into her belly, collapsing the proud woman to her hands and knees, breath wheezing out of her plush lips. The man towering above her casually smirked, and terror danced across her face in that instant. In the back of her mind, she knew it was the smile of an insane man. He slowly lowered himself, crouching before her, "You're not the Queen any more. Everyone thinks you're dead. The kingdoms are tearing themselves apart." His voice was almost giddy with glee. 



Daenerys shook her head in disbelief, still coughing, trying to gather her breath. The man's hand moved as fast as a snake to her, and she flinched in preparation for another strike - but his hand slowed, and slowly, almost lovingly, smoothed her dirty hair. Hatred and pride flared in her eyes at the man, who lowered his voice and almost cooed at her, "Do you know the story of Meraxes and Rhaenys?"



Confusion replaced anger on Daenerys' face as she half-laid on the floor, her palms digging into the cold stone of the cell. "W-what?"



The man cutely poked her nose, which infuriated her all-over-again, and mused, "Well, I have heard that you were just a little woman, not wise in the ways of the world, so I'll give you a little history lesson. When the Targaryens tried to conquer Dorne, Rhaenys bravely rode her dragon Meraxes ahead of her army, and tried to get Dorne to surrender. Sound familiar?"



The blood flowed out of Daenerys’ face as she remembered the rest of the story, "No..."



The man clapped his hands together and exclaimed, "There it is! And YES! Meraxus was felled by the luckiest shot in history." He paused and his mouth grinned wider, revealing wild teeth, "Well, second luckiest, after my Reek's." 



Her jaw set angrily and in rage she swung her hand at the man, only to be surprised as he caught it in his hands with almost no trouble. He then coiled his hands around her hand, and stroked her knuckles caringly, "So you can guess what happened, then? You were riding ahead of your lovely army, confident that nothing could touch you as you burned and destroyed my lands...until my Reek took out your Drogon's eye and you fell to the earth. It's a wonder you survived, my Queen!"



Daenerys tried to tug her dainty hand of his grip, but it had tightened like steel around it. "No, that's not right. You're not my queen. She's waiting upstairs, and has no idea you survived. That's the brilliant thing! Everything went so perfect! Everyone thinks you died in the fall, and your body was lost!"



He laughed manically, then paused, refocusing his intense gaze upon Daenerys, "So if you're not the Queen, I need a new name for you! How about...?" His hands readjusted themselves onto her pointer finger, and with a quick sharp snap he broke it, eliciting a horrific scream from Daenerys, "Bitch? Yes! You'll be my Bitch!" 



Daenerys barely comprehended his words as the pain from her broken finger flared through her hand. It doubled as her torturer switched to another of her fingers on her hand and snapped it. His eyelids fluttered halfway as her scream tore out even louder. Three more flares of pain wracked her body, and three more screams echoed the cell as he repeated his attention on the remaining fingers of her right hand. Her sobs were long and pitiful, but her voice tried to maintain her anger and pride "W-w-who are you? Why are you doing this?"



The man's eyes snapped open and he grinned that sadistic grin at her, "I am Ramsay of the House Bolton. King of the North, and your new owner, Bitch." Ramsay stood then, and made for the door, before pausing as Daenerys croaked out defiance, speaking through sobbing tears "I am Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not your bitch. "



Ramsay's eyes crinkled as he observed the pitiful form of Daenerys lying in the corner of her cell, cradling her broken hand. He tisked then and spoke in a gentle, almost loving tone, "You're not just my bitch, your name is Bitch. Bitch, bitch, rhymes with witch. And you have to remember your name."



He turned and walked out the door, whistling a merry tune as it slammed shut behind him. Daenerys bowed her head over her shattered hand in the complete darkness and sobbed continually. In the back of her mind, she swore, 



"He will not break me."


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