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She was birthed in a time of peace.
Her existence remained a secret for centuries, and every time her essence left her host, she would slumber for years, only to be reawaken in a fit of fear and courage.
Centuries of memories was homed within her mind. She had grown accustomed to pushing them away, adjusting to her new world, to her new life, keeping her family safe, her bloodline intact. While asleep, she’d see flashes of her parents, her birth parents, and not the men and women who came after them.
She’d see her father’s solemn grey eyes, hardened by war and pain and misery, yet swimming in those Northern orbs was kindness, warmth and protection. She’d imagine his arms around her, his deep voice speaking to her, calling her by her name, her real name, promising her that no harm would come to her, vowing to keep her safe, to love her and care for her as he did his other children.
She’d hear her mother’s voice, gentle and sweet. Her mother was a warrior, a conqueror, a protector. She would take her face, cold as ice between her warm palms, smile at her and she look into her eyes, her violet eyes sparkling with wonder and amazement. In odd moments, she’d catch a specific oil, a specific fragrance, and she was taken back monetarily to her home, on an island, atop a land that held secret tunnels, which she and her brother and sister would often explore.
Killer Frost was known as many things.
She was known as a villain who had robbed Caitlin Snow of her family.
She was known as the meta who had redeemed herself.
However, no one knew her truth.
Before she was Killer Frost.
Before her life was forever bonded to the name Snow, she had gone by a different name.
A name of a Queen.
Khione.
Khione Targaryen.
The daughter of Jaehaerys Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.
*
Khione heard the tales of her birth.
Her mother and father defeated the Night King on the back of Dragons, leading the Northern army, the Freefolk, the Dothraki and the Southerners alike. They conquered the long night, unleashing fire and blood on those who wished to harm their people.
Her story was not known to outsiders, only by her family, who, under Samwell Tarly’s insistence, wrote about her birth in history books that were buried and hidden for millennia, until historians discovered it thousands and thousands of years later.
The story goes:
On the Night her father slayed the Night King, the master of Death had gripped his wrist. It had been a simple touch, something her father never thought about. However, legend goes, that when the Night King placed his hand on her father, just as her father pierced his heart with a flaming sword slick with the blood of the dragon, a part of the Night King had broken free, a faint soul, that remained dormant.
On the night of the victory feast, her siblings were conceived – and subsequently so was she.
Locked in the womb, in the body of her sister Rhaella, she grew. She felt her emotions solidify whenever Rhaella was angered and frustrated by her brother Aemon’s words. She felt it, too. It became her own, yet, it wasn’t. She strengthened, offering Rhaella a cooling aura that lessened the fury within her.
Then, on a night like any other, their castle in King’s Landing was invaded.
Lannister supporters breached the walls, sneaking in through the walls like snakes, dagger tips laced with poison.
She couldn’t remember the exact moment she awoke, her memory long since influenced by the million other accounts from outsiders.
All she knew was that when a Lannister soldier had stood over Rhaella’s bed, his disgusted voice sneering, “Targaryen scum”, the sound of his hate-filled voice shocked Rhaella’s awake.
She saw the soldier and a moment later, a chilling scream would be heard through the halls. Though she couldn’t remember the events leading up to it, Khione remember the burst of energy, cold and burning all the same cutting through her, not Rhaella. She felt its current wash over her, through her body, down her arms which she thrusted out in a weak attempt to push the man away, only for a gush of cold air to cut through the heated room.
She watched with frozen eyes as the soldier’s dark form was immortalised by ice, his arm remained suspected in the air, dagger pointed down, eyes wide with shock, mouth agape, mid-scream.
Footsteps thundered through the room, she heard voices yelling, heard the familiar sound of swords singing as they were smashed together. Then, her door burst open, and her father stormed in, sword raced, in nothing by his breeches, scarred chest splattered with blood.
She remained still, looking up at him, seeing the sword his hand, the way his rageful eyes met hers. She scrambled off the bed and ran to the farthest corner on the room, lifting her still vaporising hand, the grey mist washing over her open palm like a gloomy waterfall.
“Jon!”
Her mother came in a second later, a sword of her own in hand, on her hip was Aemon, her brother curled around her, shivering and quivering. She bit back the urge to run to her mother, scared at the loveless eyes that addressed her as her father stalked toward her.
“Stay back!” She forced out, pressing her back against the wall. “I didn’t mean – I don’t---”
Her father stopped in his tracks and her mother’s gasp cut through the hair. Violet eyes, bright and clear in the dark room, widened at the sound of her voice. Her father’s arm dropped a bit, hovering for a second before his sword was lowered.
His dark brows pulled together in a tight frown, the one he always wore when he was in deep thought. Her mother took a step forward, her eyes disbelieving.
Just then a flash of white caught her attention and before she knew it, a beast covered in white fur stood between her and her father, a warning growl rippling through the air, low and threatening.
She moved without thought, stepping closer, her small hand curling around the thick fur, warm to the touch. Ghost, she sighed. She pressed herself against the direwolf, peaking up at her mother and father.
The sword in her father’s hand cluttered to the ground.
“Rhaella?” He asked.
Mother moved over to his side, and Aemon peaked up from where his face was hidden in her neck. His loud gasp seemed to shake them all out of the stupor.
“Oh gods.” Her mother moved past her father, stepping in front of him, claiming her attention.
However, the moment the King and Queen came closer to her, she stepped back, too scared to trust them. She knew she wasn’t herself, knew she wasn’t Rhaella. She didn’t know this world. She’d been thrusted into it without thought, without plan, alive and breathing, thinking for herself, moving a body she’d only felt echoes of.
“It’s all right.” Her mother’s sweet voice soothed her instantly. “Jon, take Aemon.”
Her father took Aemon without a word, leaving her mother’s arms free. Cautiously, with eyes flashing between her and Ghost, Daenerys Targaryen lowered herself down onto the floor, meeting Ghost’s red eyes for a moment. The direwolf huffed and turned to look at her, and for some reason she understood what he was trying to say.
She inched away, slowly, looking at the woman before her, eyeing the man who held her brother, who was staring at her like he didn’t know her.
“Hello.” Daenerys said, smiling at her gently. “Do you know who I am?”
She nodded, and then caught a glimpse of something odd. She lifted a hand and gripped the foreign strand, tugging harshly, only to feel pain in her head. She tugged at the white hair that looked so much like her mother’s, yet she knew, Rhaella’s was blessed with her mother’s eyes and her father’s hair. She looked up at Daenerys with wide eyes, confusion burning with terror.
“Do you know who that is?” She pointed at Jon and Aemon.
Once again, she nodded, opening her mouth before uttering the words, “Papa and Aemon.”
Her father exhaled sharply, as if her very words had punched him. “Ella?” He said again.
Sadness iced by fear forced her to shake her head.
Daenerys shifted, “What’s your name then, my love?”
She looked at the woman before her, unsure, before shaking her head, feeling tears sting her eyes. A cold liquid slithered down her cheeks and the Queen cooed before reached for her.
She willingly, trustingly fell into the space, wrapping her arms around her mother, holding her close, breathing her in, feeling the fire in her blood sooth the iciness that flowed through her. She sobbed with terror.
A hand curled around her head, fingers tangling through her hair and she recognised the heavy weight. She opened her eyes and peaked up from the safety of her mother’s shoulder, meeting her father’s kind brown eyes, no longer dark and angry, as if he were looking at Rhaella.
“Call Greyworm.” Her mother ordered.
*
“This is me?”
She looked at the mirror her mother and Missandei had given her. Her features were still the same, she had Rhaella’s nose, mouth, eyebrows, eyes shape, everything. She was the mirror image of the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.
Except, where Rhaella’s eyes glowed a beautiful violet, her eyes were dark brown, a silver-white ring around it. In place of Rhaella’s rose kissed lips, were blue lips, darkened in the day light. Her skin was unnaturally pale, like snow had made her and formed her, and her hair, which she initially thought was the beautiful silver-white of her mother, had a shade of soft blue when the sun rays washed down on it.
She looked up slowly, meeting the eyes of her father where he stood by the door, arms crossed, and expression closed off. She turned to her mother, who gave her a gentle smile, but her eyes tightened with worry.
“And I… What happened?” She asked.
“We’re not sure, my love.” Daenerys’s answered honestly. “What do you remember?”
She looked down at the mirror again. “I—I remember being asleep yet wake for small moments. I remember, your voice when you sang for me. I remember the feeling of Papa’s heart against my cheek, and Aemon’s spit on my hand when he could place it in his mouth instead of using his own.”
A smile broke free from her mother’s face. “You do?”
She nodded. “And then… it’s quiet once again. I’m only awake when Rhaella is angry, or happy, or frustrated. I’m not… I’m not her.”
“We know.” Her father’s deep voice settled over them. “We have called Samwell Tarly, a good friend of ours to take a look at you.”
Fear stuck her and it showed.
Daenerys calmed her with a shake of the head and hand on her arm. “No harm will come to you. We simply want to ensure you are healthy.”
“You promise?” She asked them.
“We do.”
*
Samwell Tarly arrived a day later and looked her over. He asked her to demonstrate her abilities, making her freeze the water in a single cup, which she did with ease. Aemon was with her and he gasped and oohed with wonder, his dark eyes bright with joy.
When he called in her mother and father, there was a heaviness in the air. Her mother walked over to her and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in comfort.
“Do you know of such a thing?” Her father asked and she flinched at his words.
“Jon.” Her mother warned but her father ignored her or seemed not to have heard her.
“No. I—I have a theory.” He looked to the Queen for permission before continuing. “You told me that on the night you defeated the Night King, he touched you. You told me you felt something cold slithering within.”
“Aye, I asked Bran and he told me to think nothing of it.”
“Yes, well, I believe, that what you felt might have been… a transference of sorts.”
“Transference?” Her mother repeated, her hold tightening.
Samwell looked to her and nodded violently, his cheeks and neck jiggling along the way. “Yes. I believe the magic that created the Night King was transferred over to Jon and… well, she is the same age of the young Princess Rhaella, so it would stand that she was… raised along with her.”
“Are you saying my daughter is…” Her father’s face tightened as if the word for what she was, disgusted him.
She ducked her head and bit her lip, holding back to the tears.
“No! No! She seems to have developed as Rhaella had. She viewed you and Queen Daenerys as her mother and father and that’s because to her, you are.”
“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here!” A young sharp voice cut in.
“Aemon!” Their mother reprimanded.
“No!” Her brother said, head tipped back to glare at Samwell. “Rhaella and Snow are one! I know! Rhaella always told me of a friend. She said she had a friend who lived within her, who helped when she was angry and hurt. Snow did that!”
“Snow?” Her father repeated the words, his face tight.
“Aye!” Aemon nodded. “Snow. That’s what Rhae called her.”
“She will not be called Snow.” Jon growled out.
“Jon.” She felt the control within her mother’s voice and peaked up to see her sending her father a sharp look.
He inhaled and nodded, his brown eyes dropping to her, his harsh expression softening when their eyes met. “I’m sorry…” He trailed off.
“Khione.” Daenerys suddenly filled in.
All heads snapped to her and she met them with a regal look, calm and collected. She met all their eyes before dropping them down to her, her smile kind and warm and loving.
“What do you think of such a name?”
Khione…
She tested it out, repeating it over and over in her head, her lips slowly parting as a wide smile claimed her face.
“Do you like it?”
She nodded.
“Then, from henceforth, you will be known as Khione Targaryen.” Her mother’s violet eyes shifted from her, before they struck her father and Samwell, a fire burning low within her pools. “Daughter of Jaehaerys and Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, heir to the Iron Throne. Daughter of Ice and Fire.”
Her mother’s words washed, each syllable seeping into her, gathering in a single ball in the centre of her heart. There it grew, a hearth of life, and Khione felt a giggle, soft and light like a bell emanate from the ball, slipping past her lips. She felt herself being tugged back, the fear and worry of her parent’s rejections breaking her mental wall, constructed to keep Rhaella and herself safe, shattering it. She closed her eyes as the sound of her chilled laughed and Rhaella’s broke free simultaneously.
She allowed Rhaella’s warmth to wrap around her and she closed her eyes, falling into a peaceful slumber.
*
Rhaella had been so happy when Jon and Daenerys accepted her that she’d raced over and wrapped her small arms around her father’s waist, burying her face in his leather jerkin.
“Thank you, Papa.” She kept repeating, echoing Khione’s words.
*
She resurfaced a month later, coming out at her mother’s gentle request. Her mother allowed her to play out in the ground with Aemon. They gave her the freedom to live and prosper on her own, outside of Rhaella.
Word had spread of the Ice Queen, but no one confirmed anything. She was allowed to travel North with her father on Rhaegal’s back, to feel the cold air against her skin. She felt powerful, laughing with delight when Rhaegal roared with joy, as if he knew how she felt and agreed.
“Are you enjoying yourself, love?” Her father asked her.
She turned to look over her shoulder, smile wide. With a mischievous grin, Khione cupped her right hand, feeling the cold air around them stir, shifting to her will. It gathered to her hand, the water that rested in the air joining into a large ball. Her father gaped at her, as he always did when she displayed her abilities.
With a grin, she reared her arm back and threw the ball of ice, over Rhaegal’s head. She felt her brother shift, his majesty form rippling as his head lifted, noticing the ball.
“Rhaegal.” Her father said slowly, but it was too late, the dragon flapped his wings and the Northern air biting their skin like small icy needles as he sped across the air, mouth opening as he swallowed the ball.
He roared in a high-pitched tone.
Again!
She looked over to her father.
“Might as well.” He chuckled.
*
Some memories were clear as day, as she had just lived them, whereas others are faint. She knew they were there, hidden in the depths of her mind, but years and years of different lives, different persona and different memories buried it, too much to sift through; some too dark to even remember.
However, she remembered the weight of her mother’s hand as she finally closed her eyes, allowing death to claim her. She remembered her mother whispered in Rhaella’s ear, “You are a gift from the gods, Khione. And you, my love, my sweet Rhaella, are my star.”
She remembered the pain when news came that her father had died in battle, remembering the coldness that claimed her. She remembered silencing Rhaella as she slipped into her clothes, black and dark blue, shouldering a white northern cloak before she climbed atop her horse, Mist, and raced off, Ghost on her tail.
She paid the men a visit, a horde of brute men who still hated the Targaryen’s, and all those who sided with them. She remembered the screams, their curses, them calling her Evil reincarnated.
She froze their words in their throats and lulled the hearts to stop.
She never spoke of it, but when news came the Starks looked at Rhaella who simply shook her head and lied, claiming she had no recollection of the events.
That was the day Khione Targaryen knew the lengths she would go to protect her family.
When she wasn’t required to be a warrior, she remained lost and forgotten as her mother’s empire was lost, as modernisation took over. Her hosts adopted the Snow name and she moved through the Targaryen line, at peace for the time being before chaos awoke her.
*
It felt blink later, when she was woken up a chilling scream and a father’s voice calling her, “Caitlin!”
She looked into a mirror, and saw herself in the face of another, her smooth skin and gentle smile an echo of her mother, while her dark hair and eyes reminded her of her father, the Northern firmness melted away by the gentle touch of chocolate.
*
“Caitlin.”
She looked at the picture of Killer Frost, scared by the cold eyes, the snow-white hair that seemed misplaced on her face. The sketch was constructed mainly of black lines formed in, so that the white spaces formed her mane, with a single crown resting over her brow, her eyes and lips dark.
She looked up to see Cisco standing there, with Barry by his side. She bit back tears that threatened to spill out, the emotions still a wreck, a chaotic storm within her, swirling and colliding in on itself.
“Did you find anything else?”
Cisco looked to Barry, and it was then Caitlin saw the folder in his hand. He and Barry made their way over to her, claiming the space on either side, bracketing her, pressing their shoulders against hers.
“I did some digging. Talked to Nate from the Legends, and…” Cisco flipped open the folder and Caitlin’s eyes dropped to see photograph of an old castle, dark and gloomy. It looked cold, as if it held so many horrors but when Caitlin stared down at it a little longer, she felt a distant connection to it.
Cisco flipped over another and she gasped as she met with a symbol she’d only ever dreamed of, thinking it was something she’d glimpsed as a child and it left an impression.
A harshly painted symbol on a black back drop, a red circle formed from the curvature of the dragons wings and tails, its skeletal frame blood red, mouths agape, revealing sharp teeth and forked tongues, its neck long, split in three, each holding a dragon’s head.
“A hydra?” She asked.
Cisco shook his head. “No, we thought so too, but… Nate did more digging, said that it was strange that you were connected to it. He said something about your name, your last name interested him, he just didn’t know why so he kept digging and…” Cisco trailed off, his dark eyes looking up and over her shoulders, uncertain gaze.
She followed his eye line and met Barry’s. His green eyes shifted to her, kind and warm, hardened a touch. She felt a tight knot forming in her stomach.
“What?” She asked him, her brown eyes imploring Barry to just say it.
Was she cursed?
“The symbol is from an ancient royal family. They had been in power since 200 BC. Possibly longer, we can’t be sure.”
Cisco handed her the folder and he had turned in to reveal a portray, the paint faded and dulled by the years. It was a man, tall and strong, with a golden crown resting on his head, his body bulked up by what appeared to be a cloak of sorts, which rested heavy over his shoulders, opened by the side to reveal a long sword, longer than his leg, the tip touching the ground, the blade deadly.
Caitlin’s heart skipped a beat and an echo of pain rippled through her.
She moved her attention to the woman who stood by his side. She was shorter than the man, but she held herself in a way that it didn’t appear so at first glance. Her chin was lifted. She was dressed in a black dress, a blood red color visible under the material, the dress had three slits parted to reveal her bright red pants, on her thigh was a single silver dragger strapped to her leg. Caitlin’s heart raced when she saw the familiar long hair, silver-white like Killer Frosts. Her hair was tied back but she had two ringlets than fell over her shoulder to display her length.
“They are King Jaehaerys Targaryen and Queen Daenerys Targaryen. They ruled the Seven Kingdoms, which was later split into the continents we have now.”
“What?” She exhaled, more to herself than them.
An arm wrapped around her, Cisco shifted to flip another page and on it was another picture of a painting, only this time, it was of the man and woman with the heads of two dragons on either side of them, a green one, with its mouth agape to reveals fangs for teeth on Jaehaerys side with a black one, much later than the green dragon on the woman’s side. They were standing regal and strong, their hands resting on two small children that stood before them, a perfect blend on the two. The boy had his mother’s hair, white as snow, dress in red and black clothes, his chin tipped and, on his head, rested a delicate silver crown. He barely reached his father’s waist, but he looked older somehow. Next to him, before her mother, stood a girl with dark hair, the color darker than it appeared due to the golden crown that adorned her head, her hair was pulled back in a simply fashion like her mother, her colors red and black, similar to her mothers, but she had a furry cloak over her shoulders. Beside her stood a white wolf, far taller than her, unnatural tall. The artists had taken his time with her eyes, Caitlin could tell. They were a purple shade, like her mother, vibrant even after all these years.
“Uh, we don’t know everything, but apparently, before the King and Queen’s reign, there was this battle. The Long Night, they called it. A guy that could apparently raise the dead was an issue back then and in order to defeat him and his… Walking Dead army, the seven kingdoms united and they had this epic battle.”
She heard Cisco, feeling herself respond in way she’d heard this story before, she felt lingering emotions that weren’t hers ripple through her.
“There are different accounts of the battle. Some say the Targaryen’s defeated the army while they were on fire, some day they defeated it all on their own, on the back of their dragons, it’s all a mess. Anyway, they took over the kingdom and became King and Queen and shortly after the battle, Prince Aemon and Princess Rhaella was born.”
“Rhaella…” Cait repeated. She’d heard that name before… but where?
“Yeah. Anyway. The Targaryen’s ruled for centuries until the laws changed and governments took over. They lost their power, but their history remained there. They were loved and people gathered all the information they could on them. Books were written about their families and their allies. They were the first generation to make a woman a Knight, they were the first to allow a bastard to become King, they were revolutionary. But what all those stories have in common in that Princess Rhaella Targaryen was… special.”
Caitlin frowned. She looked at Cisco, her graze flickering to the picture of Killer Frost, before it returned.
“Yeah.” Barry claimed her attention. “So, people talked about how she was the daughter of fire and ice. Because her mother was known as the Dragon Queen, and her father was part of the Stark line, the people who ruled the North. But… stories spoke of a colder part of Rhaella. They spoke a woman wearing Rhaella’s face, with her mother’s hair and her father’s eyes, walking the nights and claiming the world with ice and death.
Cisco flipped another page. It looked to be part of an old book, the writing ancient and careful. Caitlin turned the page, reading the words aloud:
“Queen Rhaella was blessed by the North and South, by ice and fire. Conceived on the night the Night King was slain, her soul was claimed by a coldness.”
“Another woman lived, wearing Queen Rhaella’s face.”
“Khi—” The words were too faded to make out.
“The Heir of the Stark line, Khione Targaryen came for her enemies in ice and death.”
“Winter came for…”
“What is this?” She asked Barry.
“This are pieces of text that mention the other aspect of Queen Rhaella. It all started with her.”
“And?” Caitlin closed the file and stood up, lifting a hand to run her fingers through her hair. “Guys, I’m not part of some distance royal family. I would know. My parents were proud people, do you honestly think… And if it’s true, that would mean my father left because of me. He knew about Killer Frost, and—”
“Hey, hey.” Barry stood up, reaching for her but she stepped away. His hands hovered before they dropped.
He sighed. “Cait, we’re not saying that.”
“How do you know it’s her?” She asked then, her voice hard, unable to believe their words, yet a part of her felt revived, relieved almost.
Barry and Cisco shared a glance.
“Killer Frost seemed to show up on all those who possess her father’s birth name is. The Targaryen line ended, but… her father’s name was common in the north.”
“And his name was?” She asked, dreading the answer.
Cisco answered, her tone empathetic. “Before Jaehaerys was known by that name, he was a bastard in the North. He was the bastard son, or so it was believed, of Lord Eddard Stark. He was raised as a Stark, and even after it was discovered that he was the Heir to the Kingdom, he was known by his bastard name. Jon Snow.”
Snow…
The name felt like a punch in the gut.
Her hand dropped to her stomach as if she’d actually been punched.
Snow…
“Caitlin, your family… You have always been connected to Killer Frost. She had always been there.”
She felt dizzy, the air was thick and heavy. The walls around her seemed to close in around her and in a desperate attempt to escape, she closed her eyes and that was her biggest mistake.
*
The light enveloped her as it always did, the icy vapor fogging her visible. She inhaled and instantly, she felt the coldness gush over her, reviving her form, her legs and arms, her fingers and toe. The solid grounds pressed against the soles of her boots, and she exhaled, vapor leaving her mouth.
Feet scuffled back and she opened her eyes, flashing them when she saw a tall man, Barry, dressed in head to toe red leather, his eyes wide, mouth grime. His friend regarded her in a similar manner, and she readied her hands.
“You— Where’s Caitlin?”
She looked at them all, while her mind located Caitlin. She was there, in a slumber. The panic the reveal had caused her had been too much and in giving in, she had pushed herself back into the darkness, allowing it to gain control, to protect her. Allowing Khione to return.
She turned and looked over her shoulder and caught her reflection in the metal cabinets. Her foreign clothes hung off her form in odd places and clung to her legs uncomfortably. She felt bare in the pencil skirt and thin blouse. Her pure white hair framed her face, Caitlin’s face. She looked for her mother’s nose, her father’s eyes but they weren’t there.
She looked away. “Caitlin is safe. She is asleep, so to speak.” She said to the men.
Barry clenched his fists. “You’re Killer Frost.”
“If that is the name you have chosen for me.”
She looked away from them, knowing they weren’t much of threat. Her dark gaze fell on the folder that had caused all of this. She walked over to it, reaching with a broken heart. She looked down, gingerly flipping the page back, her tears burning from unshed tears she gazed upon faces she had long since forgotten.
Her lips spread into a smiles, broken and bright.
“I remember this day.” She said to them, tracing the features of her parents. “Father had been training, attempting to delay it. He hated standing still… as did Aemon. Mother was both annoyed and amused.” She looked over to the men, happy to see their body language had shifted.
They were interested in her tale.
“You have brought them back to me.” She gave him a nod of gratitude. “Thank you. After so many centuries, the Targaryen’s have been forgotten, nothing more than a fable to be told as a bedtime story.”
“So… You are Rhaella Targaryen?” Cisco’s voice was peaked with curiosity.
“No.” She laughed as she traced her finger over Ghost, recalling the way he wrapped himself around her, the mighty direwolf reduced to a puppy in desperate need for a snuggle. Father would shake his head at Ghost whenever he walked in on one of those moments. Aemon, bless her brother, never stopped doweling out hugs and kisses no matter how long he was.
“So, who are you?”
She looked up at them and flashed her eyes, amused when they leaned away. “I was born into existence the night my brother and sister were conceived. During the battle of the Long Night, the Night King touched my father just as he ended his existence with a sword to the gut. My uncle Bran said that the Night King was eternal, he was always meant to be. The enemy of Life. So, nature found a way to ensure that.” She tried to recall Uncle Bran’s exact words but with so many years having passed, with so many memories from her hosts diluting hers, she couldn’t. “A part of the Night King latched onto my father and that essence was born when Rhaella was conceived.”
“We are one, but not the same.” She looked at Barry. “Caitlin is not me, nor am I Caitlin.”
They shared a glance.
“What’s your name?”
She smiled. “My mother named me Khione Targaryen, First of my Name, the Daughter of Ice and Fire.”
She could tell they didn’t know what to do with that information. Her story had been lost in the years, much like her family. She had been lost, adopting the identity of her host.
The last time she had been known by her name had been during the times of Vikings.
“You’re… You’re a Queen.”
She shrugged. “My sister ruled the Seven Kingdoms, I simply protected it.”
Cisco appeared to be bursting as the seams from excitement, his body shifting restless. “And… Caitlin is a descent of the Targaryen’s? Wow. That. Is. Awesome!” He moved forward; brown eyes wide. “And you’re… are you a villain?”
“Cisco!” Barry squawked.
“What? Like you weren’t thinking the same thing?” He gave Barry a look that the speedster simply rolled his eyes at.
“Well? Are you?”
She gave them a closed mouth chuckle. “I am whatever the world requires me to be. I have been a warriors, a saviour, a Queen and an enemy. Perspective shifts my identity, given it’s only ever acknowledged in the history books.”
The Flash, ever the hero, stepped forward. “What would you call yourself?”
“Lost.” She looked at him. “But I mean Caitlin no harm. My purpose first and foremost has always been to protect my family. And Caitlin is my family. Whether she accepts it or not. She is a Snow.
“So!” She lowered the file. “What do I call you? Friend or foe?”
Barry sighed. “Let’s talk first and then we decide.”
*
She told them everything, as she had always done with those, she knew she could trust.
She had been imprisoned, persecuted, used for evil, but through it all, she survived.
Khione knew she could trust Barry and Cisco, simply because she knew that Caitlin trusted them. She kept her guard up, watching the two men, ready to defend herself and Caitlin should these two turn against them.
When all was said, she leaned back and watched as the two men absorbed everything they were told.
“What about Caitlin? Is she going to be okay?”
Khione closed her eyes, searching around within her for Caitlin’s conscience. “She is… struggling. Being told you are part of dynasty as revolutionary of the Targaryen’s takes a lot from people. Some deny it, some accept it. Caitlin is still deciding. She will come forth when ready.”
“And what about you?”
She gave Barry a smirk. “I will be here when she needs me.” She lifts a hand and watching the cold air rise above her hand. “I am always needed.”
*
Hours later, Khione was still awake. She had asked for a change of clothes and after searching for clothes through some online app, Barry flashed over to the store to gather something that resembled it. He bought back dark leather pants, laced up boots, a black shirt and a red leather jacket. The colours of her family.
Her boot tapped against the floor. She had a large book before her, filled with information and images Cisco had been able to gather about her family. She looked through pictures of them, read their stories, memorised the sketches and paintings.
It’s been centuries since she’d laid eyes on them, saw them through something else other than her own corrupted memory. To look at them through someone else’s lens, without her memory and her ideology tainting and altering it.
She wanted to spend forever in this room, with nothing but her family surrounding her.
Unfortunately, the world outside didn’t stop her. Soon, a mission required Barry to flash away. Khione had moved to stand behind Cisco, watching Barry struggle with a meta who could manipulate the air around him. Right now, he was exhausting the Flash, tiring him out, so his attacks were more sluggish, even with his super speed.
“He will be drained before he can escape.” She said out loud.
“Yes! Thank you, Frost! I can see that!”
She looked at the location, feeling a sharp urged sting of worry course through her.
“Very well.”
She spun around and walked out.
“Whoa! Whoa! Where are you going?!”
Her eyes flashed. “To help Caitlin’s friend.”
*
The rescue was embarrassingly short. She manipulated the water particles hovering in the air, soaring through the sky as if she were on Rhaegal’s back. She heard the shocked cries from people below, heard the echoing alarm of policemen following her.
She soared right into the battle, between Flash and the enemy. She felt the heat coming off him, but her abilities were gifted to her by ancient forces. She froze the air around her, and his manipulation of it ceased to be. She shot out a blast of cold air, encasing his fists in ice.
“There.” She spun on her hear, her white hair flaring around her. She looked down at Flash who had been knocked down, slowly gathering his strength. “You alright?”
He looked at her in shock before nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”
She heard scuffling and turned in time to see the man trying to escape. She bends low a bit and covered the street with a thin sheet of ice, watching with delight as the man slipped and skidded across the remaining ice on his ass.
“Slippery are we.” She called out.
Flash stumbled to his feet and took off. She felt the ground vanish, heard the winds whistle through her ears, her hair blowing back as it always did when her father allowed her to ride with him. A moment later, she was back in Star Labs and the man was taken into Flash’s underground jail where he would wait to be given a fair trial.
She recalled a time when Caitlin, Cisco and Barry did this without giving their criminals a fair trial. However, after many instance with Captain Cold, he and his team have changed their ways.
(She knew all this from her time inside Caitlin’s mind)
“You helped me.” Barry commented, now out of his suit.
Khione turned around and cocked her head. “Well, of course, you’re Caitlin’s friends.”
“You’re really not here to—”
“Kill us.” Cisco filled in around his lollipop.
Barry’s eyes widened but whatever protest he had was cut off by Khione’s echoing laugh.
“I am both the enemy and the ally. The label is often handed to me by others. So, whether you decide to fight or befriend me, I will protect Caitlin and myself.” She shrugged. “She is the last link to my family.”
“Okay.” Barry nodded, accepting her explanation. “Then, I guess we both have something to prove to the other.”
*
When sun set and the day ended, Khione closed her eyes and thought: I will be here when you need me, but I will not be ignored. Can you promise that?
A projection of ‘yes’ rippled through.
Her lips curled into a smile. “She’s ready.”
Barry and Cisco stood up. Khione gave them both a parting smile before she inhaled, allowing darkness to swallow her up.
*
She was curled in her mother’s embrace, leaning back against her chest, content to be cocooned in her warmth and her love. Her mother ran her fingers through Khione’s white curls. She refused to have it braided back like her mother’s hair, and her mother respected her wishes.
Her mother pressed her lips to her hairline, and Khione smiled, leaning into the touch for a brief moment before she tipped her head back to get a better view of her mother. Her eyes were darkened with worry. Her father had left the moment he was able to, climbing atop Rhaegal to journey North. They weren’t sure who had sent the Knights, but after a month, more Lannister’s were breaching the walls, attacking the common people and Mother refused to remain silent.
However, she had to remain in King Landing, she had to rule, and so, her father had left in her place.
It had bee three days and his absence felt heavier with each passing day.
“Mama,” She voiced gently, barely not to disturb Aemon who had fallen sleep on his own bed, lulled by the sound of their mother’s voice.
“Yes, my love?”
“Am I evil?”
Violet eyes flashed. “Why would you think such a thing?”
She lifted her shoulder’s. “I am not Rhaella, and Rhaella is good. So, I figured, seeing as I am the other side of my sister, I might be bad.”
Her mother shifted until Khione had a full view her. Warm hands framed her cheeks, a gentle thumb brushing back and forth. Her mother’s hair was free from her braids, and they hung over her shoulder like a river of silver-white, soft to the touch.
“Khione.” Her mother said her name softly. Dark eyes lifted and met her mother’s. “You are a miracle, my comet. You are not bad. Men may paint you in a harsh light, they may push their hateful views, born out of ignorance and fear, onto your pure heart. But you will fight them against it, prove to them that you are not evil. Do you think you can do that?”
She nodded, serious. “And what about… what about when I have to do evil things to protect Rhae and Aemon, and you and father?”
A broken expressed flickered across her mother’s face. She paused, thinking before she said. “You father always says: he who passes the sentence, swings the sword. Do you know what that means?”
She nodded.
“Well, when the sword is swung, blood is spill. The act its cruel but often necessary. And as Queen, you will be placed in horrible positions just as your sister.”
“I know.”
“Whatever the world requires of you, ensure that the blood you spilled was not done out of ill will, but out of necessity. Ensure, the pain is quick, as your father would have done.” Her mother’s eyes ran over her features, wonder filling her eyes. “You are a miracle. The third head of the dragon. You will do wonderous things, good things. I know it.”
She felt her lips spread into a smile, believing her mother’s words, knowing them to be true, trusting them.
She learned forward and burrowed into her mother, closing her eyes. “I’ll make you proud.”
“I know you will, my love. I dream of great things in your future.”
*
Khione smiled at her reflection, looking down at the costume Cisco had designed for her. Dark blue, nearly black. A leather outfit, with her family’s symbol turned to the side, the three red dragon heads wrapping around her front, her shoulders and arms thinly lined with white fur. Her boots were leather, with bright red laces lacing it up.
“Frost, you ready?”
Khione turned to Cisco who grinned at her.
She lifted her hands, allowing a gust of icy cold air to leave her as she flashed her silver eyes. “Winter is here.” She joked.