xix. the great war

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CHAPTER NINETEEN:

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CHAPTER NINETEEN:

THE GREAT WAR。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆

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THE GREAT WAR
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆

...JORAH MORMONT WAS DEAD, and Valeria Targaryen feared her heart would never quite recover. For all intents and purposes, the man had been her father — one of the greatest Knights to ever befall the seven Kingdoms, at whose hands she'd first learnt to wield a sword, and whose infallible loyalty to her sister had ultimately cost him his life.

He had loved her truly, and though Daenerys had not once returned his sentiments, he loved on — the very notion of his feelings towards her brazen in the face of its' single greatest obstacle. Hopeful in the face of humiliation.

It made Valeria's skin crawl, though she'd never say it, that Daenerys had dragged his good heart through that great desert's dust and left him there to rot, relinquishing her banishment only when he stood to serve her quest for the throne once again. But alas, Daenerys had always been particularly vicious like that, and Valeria was once again reminded that her sister's one true love remained the Iron Throne.

Countless pyres of dead men littered Valeria's vision as she pretended to listen to Jon Snow's speech — his rousing words entirely lost on her as Jorah's empty eyes seemed to pierce her soul, painful reminders of the war past, and perhaps more terrifyingly, yet to come.

Rhaegal towered behind her, a manifold of metres separating her from the victorious living as she waited for Jon Snow's fateful conclusion — tears welling in her amethyst eyes the very moment it came, his cruelly curt nod towards her a knife to the chest.

It was time.

Locking eyes with her sister from across the snow, Valeria watched as Daenerys's once soft stare hardened — no hint of emotion, nor love, lurking within the depths of her scathing gaze as she willed her sister to do what, although she'd never dare to speak it, she could not.

With a last glance at Jorah, Valeria wiped her tears, retreating backwards into her Dragon's towering form as she shouted — shakingly, yet loud enough for all present to hear;

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