DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the original ASOIAF characters or of the original Temeraire characters. They belong to GRRM and Naomi Novik respectively.
Short ficlet starring Laurence and Temeraire (quite bemused) on one side and Dany and Drogon on the other.
Heavy spoilers for ADWD!
Spoilers for Tongues of Serpents.
Flame me all you want, I'm fireproof.
Enjoy!
P.S. This fic has already appeared on the Valyrian Forged subcommunity of Westeros Sorting LJ community. Yep, sereq ieh dashret is me.
Temeraire eyed the newcomer with a mixture of aggravation and sympathy.
He was a vicious thing, that Drogon, wild and uneducated, with half-mad red eyes and a horrible temper.
The fact that he was rather big, and by the way he ate it was clear he will be growing more, and a firebreather to boot, did nothing to ease things up.
If anything, he was even worse than Iskierka.
It had taken a while to convince him that they would do no harm to his rider, but now, finally pacified, he was chewing messily at a half-charred sheep and talking with his mouth full.
"Sheep's good, but I'd rather have a horse any day. – he said in a crude form of dragon-tongue – Horsemeat makes you stronger, it is known. You should tell your father to give some to Mother."
Temeraire barely refrained from asking "By whom it is known?".
He already knew that the answer would be unsatisfactorily.
Mother, as he called his rider, was a blond girl, who was currently eating a sheep's haunch as if she was starving, which in fact she was.
"She is not really your mother, you know." he said quietly.
The youngster eyed him angrily. "She is, she hatched us on Fathers' pyre." he spat. "Father was a great khal, that he was, and Mother was khaleesi and now she is queen, Mother of dragons and freed-slaves."
Temeraire bristled at the thought of slavery. "Are there any slavers in the place where you come from?"
Drogon's red eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction. "Not many more." he said and let loose a small lick of flame.
Temeraire inwardly shivered.
Lawrence was triyng very hard not to stare too much at the foreign Capitan.
When they met her, she had been half-naked and smeared with dried blood and soot, but still a sight for sore eyes.
Now, clad in Ensign Roland's spare clothes, her singularly light hair combed and washed, she looked almost civil, if one ignored the way she was tearing into her meal. "You must have been very hungry." he commented.
The girl quaffed a cup of water and cleaned her mouth on a napkin.
"Very much so. Drogon tried to hunt for me, but he's… a bit inconsiderate." she said, looking towards the dragons.
Her beast was fearsome and fearless, a firebreather that will probably attain heavyweight size and yet she spoke of him as if he was her child and rode him without a harness.
"Are they talking?" she inquired.
Lawrence nodded. "Some kind of dragon language, as far as I can tell. I can't speak it, but some of my officers know a smattering of words." he explained.
The girl sighed. "I wish I knew it, it would make things much easier. It sounds really difficult, though… You're lucky your dragon can speak your language."
"Temeraire speaks more languages than me, my lady." Lawrence replied.
The girl gave him a quizzical look and returned to her meal.
"I'll learn it, whatever it takes and I'll ride back to my other children." she declared fiercely
Lawrence was perplexed by her declaration.
She looked no older than his younger sister. "How many children do you have, my lady?" he asked politely.
The girl smiled almost ferociously. "Other two dragons and an army of freedmen, under siege of an army of slavers." she replied, deadly serious.
"Teach me how to control Drogon, Ser Laurence, - she entreated – so that I can save my children."
How could he refuse such an offer?