Alysane slowly drew air and snowflakes into her lungs, each expansion of her chest bringing with it a cold, tinny sting. As she rested, hidden against a fat tree, she felt snowflakes hitting the back of her throat, a brief sensation of cold before quickly melting. She swallowed and imagined the once lively flakes now snuffed of their puffy white lives, only to be reborn as the misty vapor she expelled through her nose and mouth.
It was an especially bitter cold day on remote Bear Island. Not the best kind of day for combat. Limbs tended to tire more easily and, as Alysane was currently experiencing, breathing could certainly become an issue.
It had also been a bit of an unusual day by island standards. A wildling scouting party had caught Alysane and her men off guard as the latter returned from a routine hunt. The wild men had inexplicably escaped from the spotter's eye at the Keep, and came face to face with the hunting party at a ratio of just over three to one. Neither group could have been more surprised.
Naturally, the seven of Bear Island engaged the wildlings in defense of their home. Scouting group or not, it would not be ideal if the intruders left the island alive. They may not have arrived on the island to overtake it on this particular day, but if given the chance they'd most certainly return with hundreds of their people to lay waste to all that Alysane held dear. Despite the discrepancy in numbers, the islanders prevailed for a time in combat before the remaining wildlings dispersed into the plush wilderness.
The islanders wisely did not give chase. Rather, they gathered near the water's edge, their clothes and armor offering excellent camouflage amongst the dense evergreens that populated their home. Just twenty feet ahead, three makeshift sailing vessels lay neatly along the water's edge, which is no doubt where their owners would soon return.
Alysane gazed past the wildling rafts and across the water, the heavily falling snow impeding her vision of what lay ahead. She shifted her focus to the trees to her left, eyes in a squint. She exhaled, eternally grateful to count all six of her men, all laying in wait and seemingly in good health.
She spied Elmer, her captain, just five yards in the distance. Elmer nodded to her and Alysane thought she caught a sly smirk spread across his rugged face. The seasoned warrior was nowhere near inconvenienced by this turn of events. Rather, he relished the chance to do battle on what was intended to be a day off.
The wildlings made their way towards the water as if on swift, light wings. Alysane had to give them credit. They were stealthy and silent. However, the residents of the island were onto their tricks and had been for centuries. As the wildlings approached, Alysane ceased all motion, including her breathing, and held her position against the tree. She grimaced. Her legs would need to move soon. The cold already seeping into her muscles would render them useless in just a few short minutes.
She fought a sharp exhale as the wildlings snuck along, the heavy snow muffling their approach. Her heart knocked at her chest, the men just several feet from her. One was so close she could swear she could feel the heat coming off his body as he passed her. If one only turned his head just slightly, the lady's existence would be revealed. She spied their leader straight away. He was impressive in build, with a mass of blonde curls on his head and a silken yet filthy beard. His hands and feet were enormous. She knew she'd need to be quick in wit as well as form.
As the thirteenth man passed her, she began to count. Her lungs screamed from within for another breath, but still she waited. One little puff of air could give her away immediately. She looked forward, her view of Elmer only somewhat skewed by several robust looking men in furs. He shot her a wink to let her know the last of them had passed, and she gratefully smiled as she exhaled. She quietly stood and awaited Elmer's move. Her right hand tensed around the grip of her sword, but she thought the better of it. The risk of its release could turn attentions back to her. She was wiser to remain at the backs the wildlings, at least for the time being.
Alysane watched as the band came ever closer to Elmer's boys, so expertly camouflaged that even the crew of wild men couldn't discern them from the trees. However, all of that changed once the lot was firmly within striking distance. Alysane watched as the wilderness came alive with protectors of her house. Elmer was first to raise both sword and fist to the wildlings, showing no apprehension at being outmatched two to one.
Alysane lurched forward in the snow, her target just ahead, engaged in a match with Heben, Elmer's youngest son. The wildling leader had sustained two blunt strikes to his jaw care of the teenager's fist, which didn't do much else but draw the larger man's ire. When Alysane reached the pair, the man had his massive hands wrapped around the boy's throat. Heben's feet danced below him as he was lifted off the ground, his eyes bulging from their sockets as his windpipe was slowly being crushed. But, being as rough-hewn as his father, the boy wasn't quick to give up. Alysane watched as the boy quickly reached up and yanked on the wildlings ear so hard he'd managed to nearly separate it from the man's head. The wildling cursed and dropped the boy, holding the loosened cartilage against his head as if to try to magically reattach it.
"You alright, Heben?" called Alysane.
"Better now, my lady," the boy choked out. "Business as usual." He was moving backwards on his knees in an attempt to avoid the hammer fisted swings of the man he'd recently injured.
Just before Alysane could rescue the young man from the giant, a wiry-looking fellow with black eyes knocked Alysane from her path. She stumbled but quickly regained her balance. "Let's have a go of it, my lady," he taunted. She rebounded quickly, managing to keep her balance and brace herself as he launched himself at her. Her feet rooted to the ground, she met him soundly with her right shoulder, knocking him backwards into the snow, causing his head to meet an errant log. He grunted at the searing pain at the base of his skull.
She chose her dagger over sword and quickly straddled the man, ignoring his cries for mercy as she plunged the short blade into one marble black eye. Alysane felt his legs twitch below her before all movements ceased. She turned just in time to see the leader's hateful eyes upon her.
The giant turned his attentions from the poor boy he'd been so gleefully strangling just moments before and focused upon her. Alysane smirked and made a show of twisting her dagger into the dead wildling man's eye socket. "What?" she asked, looking perplexed. "He said he wanted to have a go of it after all, didn't he?"
"You little bitch," he growled as he came towards her.
"Shit." Alysane was quick to her feet, dagger still in hand as she began to lead the wildling leader from the battle. She briefly glanced to her right, noting Elmer and his men were successfully defeating the remaining intruders. She thought since her men were handling themselves quite nicely, then it might be time for a bit of fun.
She moved swiftly in the snow, but the massive man was hot on her trail. His sheer size was the only impediment to his speed, but it was really only a slight obstacle at best. She led him through the woods and onto the path to the hunting shelter that was affectionately termed the "bears cave" by the islanders.
His strides were long and swift, despite the bitter air and inexperience with the terrain. Alysane willed herself forward, heart and lungs screaming at her in protest. She felt her left foot lose traction momentarily but quickly reacted and kept at her pace. She counted only ten more yards, and one more bend in the trail before the shelter appeared. In the distance the sounds of wildling screams pierced the otherwise tranquil air. Alysane stopped short at the bears cave and slowly turned, a look of amusement painting her face. She drew her sword for effect. Just then her pursuer rounded the bend. Breathing heavily, he broke into a smile at the scene before him. "Well, look at this. Little lady's got herself trapped. And with nary a man in sight to protect her."
Alysane scoffed. "You're under the unfortunate impression that I need a man's protection," she stated. "And for your information I'm not so little," she said. She looked down at her chest and sighed. "Admittedly, I'm more tits than anything else, surely, but I'm not little."
"I noticed," he said, circling her. "You're built quite well in fact," he said admiringly. His eyes turned dark while his right hand gripped his dagger so tightly that his knuckles were blanched.
"What a nice compliment," she said, batting her sapphire blue eyes. "You're not so bad for a filthy, murderous, one-eared beast either." She rested her hand on the shelter's entrance. "Do you want me to take care of that?" she asked, flicking her ear in reference to his recent injury. "Just a quick swipe of the sword and that little flap will be gone."
He charged her in an attempt to come down hard on her shoulder with the dagger. Alysane quickly sidestepped and sent him to his knees with a sharp elbow strike to his ribs, followed by a swift blow to the back of his head with the pommel of her sword. He grunted at the ringing pain in his skull. She kicked his dagger away while he attempted to collect himself. He spit blood onto the snow and involuntarily grasped at his injured ear.
Alysane observed this for a few moments, noting such off behavior where a wildling was concerned. The man's zest for the fight was quelled rather quickly it seemed. She sheathed her weapon. "Ah, come on," she teased. "Is this all the wildlings can muster up these days?" she asked. "I've had more trouble swatting at horseflies in summer. Of course you big boys always seem to fall harder than the rest but that's simply no excuse for this poor showing."
The man regrouped, wiping the blood from his shorn ear and washing his hands off in the snow. "You sling insults at me when it was your people that attacked us?" he asked, incredulous.
"Well, my dimwitted friend, you led your men onto my lands, did you not? Sure, you may not have planned on taking Bear Island for yourselves today, but it certainly was the plan, wasn't it? It's only been this way for centuries after all." She folded her arms across her chest. "Where's your camp anyway? How many have you got there, just salivating at the idea of taking our home? Hmmm?" He simply glared at her. "Not feeling talkative? No matter. You won't be going back to your camp or your people ever again now will you?" She smiled sweetly.
He stared at her intently as he rose on wobbly legs. "The lady shows no fear in the face of danger," he said with a touch of admiration. "You're the one they call the she-bear, aren't you? I've heard all about you."
"Have you now?" she asked, rather surprised. "Well, do tell. I haven't heard an amusing tale in ages."
"The she-bear," he rasped, revealing a bloodstained grin. "Alysane Mormont, you are. You have a son and it's told that his father is a bear. Is that true?" he asked, coming closer to her. "Did you really lie down with a bear?"
"Well I've always preferred them big and hairy," said Alysane.
"You like them wild," he said, eyes now slowly regaining their fire. "Like me." He came even closer. "You know what I think?
"I'm on pins and needles," she said, flatly.
"I think you went out and found yourself a wildling man and just couldn't resist having him between your legs. I think," he said. "That you knew a proper lord couldn't please you like a wild born man could. So you gave of yourself to him. You lifted your skirt and let him have you, over and over. You were too ashamed to admit that you, a highborn lady, would ever lower yourself so much that you actually claimed a bear was your son's sire."
Alysane looked thoughtful. "An excellent theory," she said. "If only it were true, as I've heard you wildling men can be, how shall I say this…impressive in the areas of romance. But I'm sorry to disappoint you as you've clearly disappointed me. No wildling has dipped his toe in my waters."
He eyed her with bitterness at first but he suddenly and inexplicably softened. "Show me what you've got under all that chain and leather," he said playfully. "Come, lady," he said, nodding to the bears cave. "I'll even take you properly, inside the shelter. I won't even flip you over on your tummy. We can do it face to face. However you want."
She suppressed laughter. "How kind of you to appeal to my modesty," she said. "But I'll have to pass on your offer. And to be honest you won't be much for making love today anyway, as you'll be dead soon the way I see it. I thought you'd figured that out by now, but after losing an ear and being bested by a woman, I can see where such details could escape unnoticed."
He stepped forward once again. "The lady tells fortunes?" he asked with renewed vigor. "Enough with your jests. Either get in the shelter or I'll bury your face right here in the snow while I have you," he growled and set his jaw. "You're a smart woman, quite surely. But I've nothing to lose. So it's up to you if go home with tales of another tryst with a bear, or if your men find you with your throat slit."
"It's just between the two scenarios then?" she asked coquettishly. "Should I perhaps flip a coin?"
He charged her and she held her hands out defensively. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry." She smoothed her hair and smiled as he stopped short. "I admit I've been teasing you relentlessly. Might I offer a third option that would benefit both myself and…the bear…so to speak?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.
He exhaled. "Alright. What does the lady have in mind?" he asked through gritted teeth.
She pointed over his shoulder. "Turn around."
The wildling man hesitated, as he saw the immense shadow rise behind him, placing a foreboding gray light on the snowy ground. Suddenly his skin prickled, and dread overcame him. He willed himself to turn, his breathing staggered. He was face to face with the largest brown bear he'd ever seen, it's feral eyes fixed upon him, a sonorous growl tickling at the creature's throat. The muscles in his legs betrayed him, and he involuntarily dropped to his knees in the snow. A short, hoarse cry was all that escaped his throat as the massive bear charged. The beast crushed the man's chest under his enormous paws, eliminating any possibility of fighting back. The bear tore through the wildling's thick furs and made quick work of his torso, turning sinew and skin into mere ribbons.
The once virile wildling was reduced to tatters in moments. Alysane slowly approached the beast as it feasted on the man's innards. She ran her fingers through its thick, luscious fur. "Nicely done, my friend," she said softly. "You've got a bit of fight left in you yet, old girl." The creature paused and gazed up at her lovingly, eyes like two dark pools, snout dripping with syrupy blood. She groaned quietly at Alysane before turning back to her meal.
Suddenly the woods began to resonate with the sounds of a horn blast from the Keep. It was to signal the return of the boats, meaning nearly half of the island's men would be returning from a long day on the water, including Alysane's son Jogon.
"My lady! My lady!" Elmer called frantically from the trail.
"Here Elmer," she called, back, going to meet him.
The grizzled warrior looked terribly worried as he met her on the path. He exhaled when he saw that she was unharmed. "Oh thank goodness," he said, relieved. "You ran off and…"
"I know and I'm sorry Elmer. I just thought I'd have a bit of fun with the big boy over there," she said gesturing over her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you."
Elmer peered in the distance and spied the bear crouched over the body of the wildling. He chuckled hoarsely. "The old girl never disappoints, does she?"
"Not when a hot meal is available," said Alysane. She looked out towards the Keep. "How did you fare?" she asked.
"Oh just fine," assured Elmer. "Heben will have a nasty bruise on his neck and Jeb's shoulder will need tending to being that there's an arrow in it. My aches are more from sleeping wrong than anything else. Otherwise we're doing quite well."
"Hmmm," started Alysane.
"Our good fortune doesn't please you?" joked Elmer.
"Oh my apologies Elmer. I am very glad that everyone is okay. It's just that today's group. They were a bit…vulnerable wouldn't you say? Wildlings are rugged and powerful and always come back swinging. We were outmatched three times our size and we prevailed with minimal injury. Doesn't that seem a bit strange to you?"
Elmer shrugged. "I suppose they have been lacking in vigor as of late," he agreed. "Food could be scarce," he offered. "Perhaps they're starving."
Alysane turned to see the bear pulling flesh from the wildling's rib cage. "I suppose," she said. "It's just odd. Wildlings rarely utilize scout groups. If they want something they come on enemy land, pillage everything in sight and take what they want. Why waste time scouting? They know the Keep. They know our defenses. It just doesn't make sense."
"My lady I appreciate your inquiry," started Elmer. "After all it's important for the heir of the house to ask questions, gather information as it were. But I think perhaps for today it'll be best to simply appreciate their unfortunate weaknesses and our ability to prevail. No wildling escapes Bear Island, not today anyway. We did our duty. Not much else one can ask for. "
Alysane nodded, but her brow remained furrowed. "What of the bodies?" she asked.
"Already being led to the pit," offered Elmer. He hesitated and cleared his throat. "And Heben's been sent ahead to reassure your mother of your safe return."
Alysane suddenly felt her stomach turn to acid. "Yes. Mother," she said, cringing. "Is there a small chance that my absence has gone unnoticed?" she asked meekly.
"Not a chance my lady," said Elmer. "And I know this because I could hear her bellowing your name straight through to the water just moments ago."
Alysane groaned. "Perfect."
"I'll take the weight of blame this time, my lady," offered Elmer. "I've been in Lady Maege's good graces as of late. You however..."
"No," said Alysane. "But thank you, Elmer. This hunt was my bright idea and you were only going along to ensure my safety. I'll incur the wrath of Maege." She turned back to the bear making quick work of the wildling. "Give her another hour and then send someone for the remains," she said.
Elmer nodded. "Alright. Shall we?" he gestured towards the Keep.
Alysane slapped Elmer on the shoulder as the two took off for the Keep. Snow crunched under the weight of their boots although Alysane felt as if her feet barely touched the ground at all. The two sprinters disturbed a scurry of squirrels and nearly tripped over the little animals as they scattered away, twittering in exasperation.
Just ahead was Mormont Keep. Alysane could never resist a smile at the sight of home. Mormont Keep was the largest log structure in the Seven Kingdoms. Wrapped in the comforting arms of an earthen palisade, it was always an image to drink in for both residents and visitors alike as it sat nestled among the tall evergreens, smoke rising from its hearths. It was considered a rather rustic or even primitive construction by contemporary standards, but it was full of comforts and Alysane couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
The lady and her captain arrived home just as Lady Maege stood on the north ledge, tugging on the scout's coat and ordering him to sound the horn for a second time. The stout woman spied her daughter racing through the main thoroughfare and up the steps to the great hall with long strawberry blonde locks sailing in her wake. Maege hauled her plump body over the ledge and shouted down, eyes full of rage. "Alysane Mormont, you insolent little horror!" she exclaimed. "Just wait until I get a hold of you!"
Alysane nodded to the snickering guardsmen as she and Elmer blew into the great hall, their quickened steps echoing throughout the airy log and limb structure. They raced past the massive stone fireplace that rose from the center of the great hall and reached nearly eighty-five feet in height. The familiar sights and scents of home only mildly relieved her anxiety. The two bypassed the entryway to the courtyard and Alysane hopped onto the stairs, seeking her residence on the third level. "Good luck," she called to Elmer as he disappeared towards the kitchens.
Alysane felt a flash of certain victory upon reaching her door and seeing her entryway empty of any of her mother's guardsmen. Exhaling, she twisted the knob and entered her room, shutting the doors and peering out of the small peephole for any signs of activity. Satisfied that she'd temporarily escaped one of her mother's infamous tirades, she smoothed her hair and sleeves before turning around. "Jogon!" she exclaimed, putting her hand over her mouth. "You scared me near to death!"
Her son of sixteen stood before her, wearing the usual impish grin on his handsome face. He crossed his arms on his chest, clearly amused. "Mother I can never remember," he started. "When grandmother undoubtedly murders you, who becomes official heir to the house, me or aunt Lyra? If it's me then I've got some excellent ideas on refurbishing the great hall to share. What would you say to everything in the color red?" he asked excitedly. "Best color to hide bloodstains you know."
"Very funny," she replied dryly. "How can you joke at a time like this?" she pouted. "Don't you love mummy?"
"Oh I love you mother that is without any doubt. I just have to wonder if you do, in fact, desire to be with the gods at an early age. Let's go over your list of offenses just today," he said, his molasses brown eyes twinkling. "You left this morning on an unsanctioned hunting trip, taking some of our best men with you. Then, you got ambushed by a group of wildlings outnumbering your lot three to one. But," he said, pointedly. "It gets better doesn't it? You just had to lead the biggest of the wildlings away, alone, to…do what exactly?"
"Well it was a series of events that preceded it, but it was basically so a bear could eat him," she said, matter-of-factly.
"So a BEAR could eat him!" Jogon exclaimed excitedly. "Of course, of course, because the natural conclusion that any sane person would draw is that if you trifle with Alysane Mormont, you get eaten by a bear." He sighed before putting his hands on his hips. "I couldn't make up some of the things that you do even if I had the help of the best pens in Westeros."
She scoffed. "For your information my dear boy we were not ambushed. We happened upon a scouting party on our return."
He raised an eyebrow. "A wildling scouting party," he repeated skeptically. "Do me a favor and don't tell grandmother that bit of information. She's already angry enough."
"I'm serious," she asserted. "Ask Elmer. They weren't equipped as raiders. They barely had any weapons. Besides, two dozen of them could possibly raid a barn, but not Mormont Keep."
Jogon looked thoughtful. "How odd," he said, pacing the room. He suddenly stopped. "Did you question them?"
"Just the one I led away," she said. "He wasn't so eager to share when the topic turned to where his camp was located."
Jogon went to speak but hesitated.
"What is it?" asked Alysane.
"I'm not sure," said Jogon. "It's just that," he started. "Well, perhaps next time we encounter wildlings on the island we'd better retire our usual policy."
"So hold them for questioning?" asked Alysane. "Why?"
"I just have a feeling that today's so-called scouting party wasn't what it seemed," he said. "I think maybe they don't have a bigger camp across the waters. I think they came here because they have nowhere else to go. Because they're scared."
Alysane looked thoughtful. "The wildling beast did say something about having nothing to lose," she admitted. "I assumed he meant because of certain death."
"Oh I absolutely think he meant certain death. Just not by one of us," said Jogon.
Alysane studied him for a moment. "White walkers?" she asked.
Jogon nodded.
"Fantastic," said Alysane. "And here I thought just having to deal with the Boltons was punishment enough."
"Maester Aemon only recently sent ravens warning of the White Walkers," he said. "Bear Island isn't that far from the Wall. It's not impossible to consider that the White Walkers are moving faster than we'd thought and the remaining wildlings are escaping across the water to find shelter."
"Then why wouldn't the fools say something to us when we happened upon each other?" Alysane asked.
"Would it have done them any good?" asked Jogon. "Our family has been fending off wildlings for centuries. Think you a brand new story would change our hearts towards them?"
"That's true," said Alysane. They sat in silence for a few moments. "It's something to bring up to Maege at dinner this evening," she said. "Ugh. Maege." She twirled her hair in deep thought. "The wildling man. He said he knew of me. He called me the she-bear."
"Just what you needed for your already inflated ego," said Jogon jokingly.
"He also claimed knowledge of your parentage. Doesn't that seem odd?" she asked.
"Mother the story of your interlude with a bear has been around since you birthed me right in the middle of the great hall," said Jogon. "Wildling or not, chatter has a long reach. Especially a story of that magnitude."
"I suppose," said Alysane. "You'd think wildlings would have better things to do." She laughed. "I think the same about our own folk. Most know what trouble I'm in before I even know!"
"Well without Jorah around anymore they see your exploits as the next best thing," said Jogon, chuckling. The boy's face suddenly became serious and he took his mother to his chest to embrace her. She could feel a slight tremble ripple through his muscular frame. "Are you truly okay?" he asked softly. "The wildling man…did he try to…?"
"Only in his wildest imaginings," assured Alysane.
"Thank the gods," said Jogon, relaxing.
"Thank Brij," she replied. "The old girl's been itching for a good kill for awhile now."
"Good on her," said Jogon of the bear. "I owe her." His face soon returned to its jovial state and he smiled warmly, deep dimples appearing at the base of his cheeks. He touched his mother's face. "You know I couldn't go on without you. Don't you?"
She returned the smile and squeezed him tightly. "And same goes for me my son."
They separated and Jogon took a seat on his mother's bed. "I was just down in the kitchens. Nice stag your group brought in," he said appreciatively. "Word is you took him down yourself."
"Thus once again proving my point. We're rife with busybodies," she said, shaking her head and beginning to remove her chain.
Jogon observed her. "You look tired," he said. "Are you still having those dreams?"
She tossed a mass of chain and leather straps on the chair near the window. "Yes," she said, massaging a bruised shoulder. "They're more frequent now."
"Is it the reason you went out on a hunt this morning?" he asked. "So you could catch a glimpse?"
"Catch a glimpse of what exactly?" she asked.
"You know what I mean. So you could see him. The white dragon. To watch him sail through the skies above Bear Island just like in your dreams," he said. "And so you could finally learn his name."
She shrugged. "They're simply dreams," she said. "No need to be so literal."
"Now mother, there have been rumors of dragons for quite some time now," said Jogon.
"Rumors," said Alysane.
"Mother this isn't the first time your dreams have proved to be portents of things to come," argued Jogon. "And besides, wouldn't it be so, so…fantastic to meet a dragon? To see it fly and hear it roar louder than all of the beasts in the forest? To sit upon it's back and soar through the sky?"
"To feel its flames upon your body as it roasts you alive," offered Alysane, sarcastically. "I'm beginning to reconsider my decision to share these dreams with you."
Jogon sighed. "I refuse to believe that these dreams are wasted on you. Of anyone I know you have the most adventure hidden in your heart. You tell people that my father is a bear for goodness sake! You don't enjoy the nightly visitations from the white dragon? Not even a little bit?" He looked at her expectantly.
She looked at his young face, his bronze complexion a rare sight in the North, especially in the midst of winter. Alysane smiled. "I'll admit, there is some appeal for this adventurous heart."
The two shared a smile just before they heard a storm gathering at the base of the great hall. Alysane looked at the doorway to her suite and swallowed hard. "Here comes your grandmother."
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ViserionViserion gripped the ceiling of the ink black pit where he and his brother Rhaegal had been held captive for what seemed like a lifetime. The white dragon had managed to find several rather significant structural disturbances upon inspection of this area just a week earlier. This had inspired hope in the dragon. Weaknesses in the pit could lead to escape.
He primarily used his large black claws to dig at the degenerating structure, learning very quickly that using his mouth only served to give him a toothache. He worked with patience and meticulousness, traits not generally attributable to a dragon. However, Viserion thought, what else did he have to fill his days? In any event, the daily activity was keeping him from going mad.
He'd managed to toil long enough at the edifice to actually whittle out a perch for himself, giving him the luxury of using his body weight and allowed for better overall balance. The morning had passed rather quickly and Viserion continued on in the best of spirits.
He glanced down at Rhaegal, who had spent his time in the pit caught in an infuriating dance of pure rage and distinct depression. The only reason Viserion had originally begun seeking the upper limits of the pit was to escape his brother's abuse. He'd suffered too many bites and scratches from his deranged sibling to want to be in close proximity anymore. It certainly wasn't the green dragon's fault. Any manner of man or beast would have been driven to the nadir of either insanity or despair if they were locked in such a chamber.
Viserion, however, enjoyed his renewed sense of purpose, endlessly scraping away at the ceiling of his prison. Even the faintest taste of freedom elicited a joy within him that he'd only felt when in flight. He hadn't quite understood why his mother chained her sons in the dark pit so long ago. They'd followed her into its depths so willingly. They trusted her. But once the shackles were placed on them, their trust soon turned to confusion and then to bitterness.
Of course the shackles were long gone. Both siblings had worked day and night to loosen them from their bases in the ground. It didn't make for quick work, but with perseverance they were free of the iron fingers that once held them. They'd spent their first "free" days pacing the pit, bumping into its walls and snarling at each other in irritation. But then Rhaegal retreated into his lunacy, leaving Viserion to devise his own way to cope with his macabre existence.
And that is just what the white dragon did. Every thought he had was about escape and freedom and wind and flying. Sometimes he'd lose days to stubborn fantasies of slicing through the air and traveling to the most wondrous and exotic places. He relished in his own obsession. The sounds of the people of Meereen and the blissful songs of the birds outside only inspired his passion. Finding the cracks in the ceiling only validated his dreams even more. And there he remained, working without pause for seven days.
On this particular day it was quite hot in the city. The streets just above Viserion's head baked under the relentless sun. It was especially quiet in the pit that day. Viserion only heard from Rhaegal when the green dragon would moan grumpily at him in response to the mortar and stone that fell from high as Viserion worked.
At midday, the white dragon caught his first glimpse of freedom. Or rather, his first peek at the street above. He pressed one molten gold eye against an opening and spied a young woman herding a small group of children by. They stepped right over his head, completely unaware of his existence. The daylight from the city above cast a weak stream of light into the pit. Viserion pressed on, his heart full of excitement. As dusk approached, cobblestones began to fall into the pit, their absence each creating a pinpoint of light within the tomb.
At this point, Rhaegal took notice. He stretched and then craned his neck up at his brother. He watched intently as his sibling tore at the top of the pit. Cobblestones now fell with increased frequency, each landing with a click below. Rhaegal suffered a few minor injuries to his head as he looked up, but his tough scales protected him. He began to feel something inside of him, something wonderful. As a dragon he lacked any sort of vocabulary for what he was experiencing. To a human this sensation could certainly be called nothing other than hope.
Rhaegal soon joined Viserion on the ceiling, opting not to scrape and scratch at the surface, but to use his strong head and shoulders to raze their surroundings. To his delight, it worked. The material began to break free more easily. Viserion noted this and followed suit. The two brothers summoned every ounce of strength they had and pushed in unison, liberty only just moments away.
Finally, and with great relief, the brothers emerged victoriously from the pit, pieces of the street falling from their shoulders and bouncing off their leathery wings. They both roared joyously and turned their attentions to the sky above them. Viserion scaled the building closest to him and climbed until he enjoyed a clear view of the starry night sky. He roared again, unable to recall when he'd felt such happiness. He watched as Rhaegal climbed a building just across from him.
In an unspoken union, both brothers looked at each other as if to say farewell before they took to the air. It took a few moments for the dragon's muscles to adapt to their sudden new use. Viserion felt the air move along his wings in ripples as the city below became smaller and smaller. He sang happily as he reached ever higher into the atmosphere. Rhaegal's own cheerful song could be heard in the distance.
Viserion had no destination but this was of no matter to him now. He was free and he would never feel the confines of his prison ever again. He pointed himself North as he heard Rhaegal's song become softer and softer until it finally disappeared.