Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea.
She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword. Princess Elia of Dome pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails.
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