"Princess Visenya." Daenerys greeted, standing up on her elevated throne, a smile on her lips. "Have you come to surrender?"

"No." Visenya said. "But I am not a princess."

"I am the Queen, you are the princess usurping my throne."

"No one who says that they are the king or they are the queen is the king or queen." Visenya drawled.

Daenerys flushed angrily. "I do not wish war on you, niece."

"I've been fighting for my throne for the past few years. What's another few? You are the only ones with dragons here in Westeros, Princess Daenerys."

Daenerys glared down at her from her elevated throne. "Princess Visenya—"

"Your little plan is pathetic, really. An elevated throne to look down on me, refusing to address me by the title I won through war—pathetic." Visenya said.

"Do you know why I am here? I spent my life on foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith." Her violet eyes glowed in the dim light,"Not in gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. the Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea." she made sure to clarify. "They did for me. I was born to rule the seven kingdoms, and I will. You were born luck with magic."

"Was that suppose to mean something?" the Iron Lady asked sarcastically. "Because it doesn't mean shit for me. And born lucky? I never wanted this!" the Dragon of the Desert snarled. "I have death magic—and I felt Mother, Rhae, and Aegon die, I felt their pain, their fear, their death. So no, I was not born lucky."

"Princess—" Missandei began.

"" Visenya hissed, her magic flaring.

And for an instant, Daenerys didn't see her niece, with white-gold hair and amethyst purple eyes.

A young women with long black hair and emerald green eyes that burned with death stood in her place. A pair of black feathered wings were on her back, with an elegant black dress, and a large scythe strapped on her back.

And a figure garbed in black, with another scythe strapped across his back, stood next to her.

"I am the fucking Mistress of Death." Visenya hissed, walking forward. "I have given up too much to roll over and let a little girl ascend the Iron Throne. Do you want to know something, Princess Daenerys?"

"What?" the Mother of Dragons asked fearfully.

"The lords of Westeros? They won't accept a foreigner as queen."

"I was born here! On Dragonstone!" the last child of Rhaella Targaryen barked.

"So was I." the white-gold haired Queen rolled her eyes. "But you were raised in Essos, so to them you are a foreigner. I grew up in Dorne yes, but I proved myself in the War of the Royals. They won't kneel before you."

"I will make them." Daenerys said.

"Which will earn their hatred." the Golden Dragon said.

"So war it is then, niece?" Daenerys spat.

"More like a single battle, Princess Daenerys." Visenya said before teleporting away.