Deep inside the highly fortified walls of Viserysfort, a highly classified war council was currently underway.
"And then," Princess Daenerys announced, slamming a tiny wooden fist onto the war table, "we shall burn their horse snacks! All of them!"
Her audience stared back in stunned silence.
To her left sat Ser Pounce-a-lot, a stray ginger tabby she had recruited from the fortress kitchens. To her right sat an extremely confused-looking tortoise she had officially named 'The Black Dread.'
"You see, Lord Tabby," Daenerys explained, pacing back and forth with her hands clasped behind her back, doing a flawless impression of her older brother. "The Dothraki rely on fermented mare's milk and dried horse meat. If we knock over their milk bowls, they will cry. It's basic military strategy."
Ser Pounce-a-lot let out a long, pathetic meow and began licking his paw.
"Insubordination will not be tolerated in my Kingsguard!" Daenerys gasped, pointing an accusing finger at the feline. "My brother, the True Dragon Emperor, King of Blood and Fire, the Unburned, would roast you for such insolence!"
Outside, a thunderous roar echoed across the sky. Viserys was putting on a magnificent, terrifying show, raining gold-and-red fire down upon the Tyroshi trebuchets.
Daenerys scrambled up onto a wooden stool to peek out the narrow window. She could just barely see the golden silhouette of Sunblaze turning the enemy camp into a massive bonfire.
She sighed wistfully. "Viserys gets all the fun."
She turned back to her 'army'. The tortoise hadn't moved a single inch.
"Right. Time for dragon-riding practice."
Ten minutes later, Syrio Forel strolled into the chamber, only to freeze dead in his tracks.
The young Princess of House Targaryen was currently sitting cross-legged on the back of an exceptionally large, exceptionally disgruntled sheepdog that someone had brought into the keep.
She had a wooden training sword raised high above her head.
"Dracarys!" Daenerys commanded at the top of her lungs.
The sheepdog sneezed.
"I said, Dracarys, you overgrown furball!" she groaned, nudging the dog's ribs with her little heels. "Melt their siege engines! Burn the fat green-bearded Tyroshi commander! "
Syrio cleared his throat loudly. "Princess. I do not believe the... ah... 'fluff-dragon' is equipped with incendiary capabilities."
Daenerys pouted, sliding off the dog's back in defeat. "It's not fair, Syrio. Viserys gets a real dragon with golden scales and red horns. I get a dog that smells like wet mud."
"Patience, little princess," Syrio chuckled, offering her a wooden practice sword. "Perhaps we start with the water dance before we move on to aerial bombardment? Leave the roasting of the mercenary companies to your brother."
Daenerys huffed, taking the wooden sword. "Fine. But when I grow up, I'm getting three dragons. And mine won't sneeze when I tell them to burn things."