AN: what can I say about this story? I want to save a lot of awkward speculation.
Hello, I started this account because I have main account chock full of stories are Incomplete but with somewhat serious plans to complete them. This account isn't like that. It's for stories that I have started and I have no earthly clue what I'm doing with them, but I wanted to share with the world. So, don't come into this story with any serious expectations that this will be finished or updated in a consisted manner.
Two, it is going to be slash. What does that mean? It means the main characters, male characters, will be in a relationship with each other. There will be no pairing up with Dany, Myrcella, Margarey, Sansa, Sand Snakes, or any other female character you have in mind. You can send me one line reviews to tell me to pair Harry and/or Tom up with so and so and I will laugh and thank you kindly for adding to my review count.
Three, this will not be OP!Harry or OP!Tom. What does that mean? That means, Harry will not be born into one of the great houses of Westeros. He will not be Tywin 2.0. He will not be Petyr or Varys 2.0. He will not be Tyrion 2.0 or Jon 2.0 *gasp* He won't even be Voldie 2.0. I know, I know. Boo~. But if you want that story there are loads and loads of them out there I checked. He will also not have an army, a secret spy network, err... super extra powerful magic where he saves everyone, knows everything, and nuts in the hottest girl you're salivating over.
Four, I need a beta. Grammar is bad. Send help.
Tom
Tom tapped the Myrish wizard on the shoulder. He turned around paled with recognition.
Good.
"My father wishes to speak with you."
The Myrish wizard spoke the Common Tongue brokenly, stressing an appointment made. He swore to come to father on the morrow. It was important. He could not miss it. His light brown eyes darted to the side and his blue lips trembled. It began to grate on Tom's nerves.
"Stop talking," Tom commanded in bastard Valyrian. The wizard pressed his lips together, staring at him. "Come with me." Tom threaded through the innkeep to the second floor, check to see if the wizard followed. People listened to Tom when he spoke.
Tom and the wizard entered a long, dark corridor and stopped at the last door on the left.
The Crow's Eye sat near the empty fireplace. They were whores, young twins, Maia and Calipso were tangled together in rumpled sheets. They giggled when they set eyes on Tom. Tom snorted, disgusted. He took his place at the Crow Eye's side. "Good boy. I can count on you." His lone, blue eye like the famed waters around the Sapphire Isle, smiled as it settled on him.
Tom said nothing. He would not rise to the bait. Compliments were not freely given from someone like his father. Euron Greyjoy was mad and clever, it made him dangerous. The Crow's Eye tsked. "Cold. If only you were like your mother. You are hard to love."
Euron faced the Myrish wizard and snapped his fingers. Tom poured the drinks. He had long since grown used to the foul scent of the Shade-of-evening, a pelicular beverage drank by Qarth wizards. Tom stepped back after he dealt out the gold cups.
"Wizard, we leave tomorrow. My mongrels grow anxious without reeving and raping. It has put me in need of cheering up. Do you have what is mine?"
No, Tom thought. This "wizard" was a charlatan.
"It is a slow process!" the wizard told his father. "I only ask for a little bit more gold and time. See here." His father drained his cup. The Crow's Eye had no temperament for patience and he did not like to be told lies.
The wizard set his cup hard on the table before him. It wobbled and deep blue drops splashed over, staining the wood. He drew a satchel from under his roughspun cloak and pulled out the dragon's egg. It was a deep green flecked with black splotches that looked oiled. To the untrained eye, it looked like a colorful rock or an artisan piece fashioned by glassmakers in Qohor. How the fool had gotten a hold of a genuine dragon's egg, Tom did not know. Dragon's eggs were exceedingly rare, rarer than Valyarian steel, and they were fossilized relics from a time when there had been magic in the world. The wizard spun the egg around and pointed at a hairline crack.
"Progress!" he proclaimed, his sallow skin flushed. "It is on its way to hatching. By the time the year is out, I swear you will have a dragon."
Tom's fists curled. "Tell the truth," he said coldly.
The wizard startled. He blinked at Tom, his nervous eyes darting between him and the Crow's Eye. "You would do well to answer," his father rumbled.
"I - I - I," the wizard stammered, gulping. "I am, milord. I only need a bit more time."
Lies, lies, lies, do not lie to me! Tom's nails dug into his palm. The wizard's cup trembled, dark rivers ran down the rim.
A sickening squelch turned Tom's attention. The Crow Eye's towered over the wizard, his red and black battle ax wedged deep in the wizard's soft middle. There was a look of surprise on his face before his father wrenched his axe free. His hands were covered in blood as he tried to keep his insides in, "But it has not been a year," he croaked and fell forward.
Maia and Calipso screamed. Tom stared at the dragon's egg.
"Shut them up. We don't want to be rude to the other guests."
Tom drew his dirk from his belt and moved towards the bed. He was one-and-ten and skinny, but he was fast and efficient. They struggled, he knocked them out, Maia first and then, Calipso. His father resettled in his chair, snickering quietly. Soon, the white sheets were flecked with drops of crimson and there two pink tongues on the floor. Tom wiped clean his blade.
Tom drifted toward the dragon's egg. It called to him, whispering to pick it up and hold it close. His pale fingers twitched. He imagined what his father would do with the egg, likely parade it about until he grew bored and threw it away. The Crow's Eye did not care for the value of an item, so much as the joy of taking from others.
Tom gritted his teeth. It would be wasted.
"Father," called Tom, because the Crow's Eye liked the title even if he did not care much for the job. His blue eye pinned on Tom, and he gave him a twisty, fevered smile. The shade-of-evening gave Euron Greyjoy an anxious sort of energy. "Please, Father, could I have what's left of the charlatan's farce." Tom dared to brush fingers against the egg's warm surface.
"Why?"
"It is beautiful," Tom said. That was true.
Crow Eye's nodded slowly. He pulled the full cup toward him, he shrugged. "It is yours, bastard."
Tom snatched the dragon's egg and cradled it to his chest. Tom was not much for bowing, bastard or not, but he gave the Crow's Eye a stiff bow and a bland sentence of gratitude. His father's eye smiled up at Tom.
Maia and Calipso were still on the bed, unconscious. Their smallclothes and dusky skin stained by their drying blood. They had shut up. Tom was unsure how much longer they would last. His father's treatment of women was consistent with his treatment of plunder and trinkets. When he grew bored and they would have to be thrown away. Tom hoped Craghorn would be responsible for them this time. He frowned and held the egg tighter; heavy as it was, Tom never wanted to let it go. Shifting on his feet, Tom nevertheless resolved to remain quiet until he was given leave to go.
The Storm God howled his rage tonight. The inn rattled and groaned, and rainwater found space between the wood. Tom knew tomorrow the floor would be covered with water. His ears pricked with the boom of thunder, and his body froze up with each crash of lightning. He almost missed being on father's galley, Silence. Silence promised a dry bed. His father boasted Silence as being the only ship on the fourteen seas able to handle the Storm God's cock and load.
Candles breathed in the background casting shadows on the walls of the small room.
Tom's dragon egg's sat on his stomach. It weighed like a great stone. He turned it over many times until he felt sure its intricate design was burned in his memory. What would he do with his dragon's egg? He could sell it for a great fortune and live as a small lord.
Perhaps, he could find another wizard from the House of the Undying or Asshai to try and make his egg hatch. Maybe, go to the House of Black and White and trade the egg for a boon. Tom did not want to be part of Silence forever.
Tom shifted on his side, and his egg rolled down. He drew it close to his chest as he curled around it. His egg was warm. All these ideas and possibilities and not one sounded appealing. "I will keep you," he said, slipping into his strange tongue. Tom never met anyone that spoke the language aside from various snakes he had encountered since birth. "And, you will be my friend."
In the morning, Tom awoke to insistent hisses. Hungry hungry. Tom rolled over burying his face into the thin pillow. It was too early he knew because he heard nothing, nothing aside from hungry hungry. Feed me.
"Piss off!" Tom shot from the bed, he opened his eyes to the source of noise. It did not take him long to see: a dragon.
There was a dragon on his bed. She was small, about the size of Tom's palm. She was green as olives, speckled in black. It was rather obvious to him she was a girl, though if anyone asked he would not be able to give them a reason. She blew ashy rings of smoke at him. Her claws tore the fabric of his sheets as she scuttled closer, blowing angrily and glaring fiercely, demanding food.
He glanced to his left. There were pieces of his dragon's egg. Sharp, jagged shards glittered like precious stones in the dim light.
Tom stood up, and she climbed on him in protest. Her claws pinched deep. She kept climbing. Her smooth tail wrapped around his neck, his pulse jumping under her claw. Tom smiled.
"Hungry, I heard," Tom said. "What do you eat?" he stroked her, marveling at the raised spikes on her back. She was terrifically warm. Tom paced about the length of the room.
"You're out of luck if you want is milk, I have no tits." Tom reached to cup his flat chest to make sure he hadn't gained the ability to lactate in the night. "I'm sure any wet nurse would scare with your teeth. Perfect for tearing into your enemy, my dear." Hungry, hungry.
Tom nodded. He stepped outside his room then abruptly went back inside. He had nearly done something stupid. He hurried around his room, checking under his bed, seeing only dust mites. It was impossible for someone to hide in the fireplace, but he checked, seeing only ash. He moved far from the window.
Tom tilted his head to the left to look into her eyes.
"There has not been a dragon seen in Westeros or Essos in centuries. You're supposed to be extinct."
She snapped her teeth at him.
"I'm pleased for the contrary. But, what would they say if they saw you? You are tiny and I am not a man grown. They would take you."
More smoke billowed in his face. Tom coughed. He agreed. "They cannot take you from me. You are my friend." Mine. He was not going to lose his dragon. The decision in mind, he coaxed her from his shoulder and settled her on his bed.
Tom crouched down to eye level. She crouched in turn, eyeing him with bright intelligence. "Stay," Tom said, standing. "I will be back."
She growled at him. He raised a quelling eyebrow. This would not do. He had to be firm even if they were to be friends. He was older after all and she was not even a few hours. He knew of the dangers in the world, and he was going to keep her safe until she grew big enough to protect herself.
"Stay," Tom stressed as he had done with the Myrish wizard. "You want food. I will bring you food, yes."
Hungry, Hungry. Food.
Tom nodded. He backed away. She made to follow. "Stay!" She froze. Tom made to move again and he was relieved she did not move, only she continued to glare at him, beginning to growl.
That was all right. She was entitled to her anger.
A last quelling glance at her and Tom hurried to the kitchens. He was not surprised to see the wenches and cooks already up. Cooking was a never-ending task. "The Crow Eye's wishes to break his fast."
A short, gnarled old man covered in wiry black hair glared at him with ruddy brown eyes. "Does he now? He will have to wait like everyone else." This man was stupid or in a hurry to meet the Drowned God. Tom did not care either way.
"He does," Tom stated simply. "I ask again. The Crow's Eye wishes to break his fast. Tell him differently if you wish. I warn you, the last person to deny him was spitted and roasted like a pig to soothe his hunger."
The man blanched. Tom's lips curved up into a small, cruel smile. The gnarled man demanded food, then called for fat meat pieces, warm bread, hot cereal and salted fish, eel, and duck. He offered for a wench to bring it up.
"He prefers it from me," said Tom, reaching for the platter.
"Do not hesitate to ask if milord would like something more," the gnarled man said. Tom nodded. He hurried to his room, relieved to see his dragon still on the bed. He was not part of someone waking dream. She sang her greeting.
"I have brought food." Tom put the plate on the bed. He made a noise at the mess on his sheets and the greater mess that would follow after. Still, she was more important than his irritation.
Tom went for the hot cereal and bread. She sniffed around the plates, hissing at the soft pieces like fruits and cereal. She considered the pheasant, the salted fish, and meats. She attacked the parts nearly blackened, but she did not eat very much.
When she had her fill, she climbed Tom once more and laid on his shoulders. Tom scratched her scales. It felt as if he had known her a long time.
"You need a name. Shall I name you after the great she-dragons? How about Vhagar, her breath was said to be the hottest of the dragons. Do you want to be a queen like legendary Red Queen, Meleys? Mayhaps, Tessarion, Syrax, or Meraxes?"
She flicked her tail waspishly. Tom may have read into it, but he moved on all the same.
"There was another dragon only the iron people of Pyke sing tales about Nagga the Sea Dragon. Nagga drowned islands when she was angry and she ate leviathans and krakens. It took man and God to kill her." He looked at her, he imagined her big and larger than Balerion, able to kill krakens and the other great monsters.
"Your name will be Nagini, after her," he said.
Nagini belched black. Tom took it for approval.
Tom felt frightened. A great fire had eaten the foreboding black sail and was now gobbling the wood on the mast. There were the ringing shrills of the bells and suddenly the deck crowded with bodies as they hurried to save supplies and thwart the fire. Tom knew it would not be stopped as easily as normal fire, because it was dragon's fire. Nagini's fire.
There was no time to hide below the deck with her. His silver tongue failed Tom, and he could not think of an acceptable lie in this situation to explain away the fire and the dragon. There was no place to run while the ship swayed on the frigid sea. Tom stood there, cold sweat clung to him despite the fierce fan of the flames.
No one yet seemed to notice Nagini at Tom's feet like a loyal lapdog. He reached down to reach pet her, wishing she were big enough to mount so they could fly far, far away. Their galley rocked violently with the ram of the Silence.
All at once, Tom felt the foreboding of those they terrorized when he saw the fearsome visage of the Crow's Eye's red hull and the strangling arms of his golden kraken adorned sail peeking through the low clouds. A thick plank smacked the lip of Tom's galley, connecting hull to hull. Tom's gaze followed his father as he walked calmly over, the very image of the gods of old, a creature of seafoam and rage and splendor. Certainly, Euron Greyjoy was the Drowned God come again. He was more comely than any of the Ironborn.
Towering over his people, he was lithe, without whiskers like a youth, possessing long, clean ink black hair with good teeth.
His father's footsteps matched that of Tom's own pulse. Tom found he stood straight and stared dead ahead at his father. There was little use in cowering. Tom did not have to wait long until his father was before him, blue met blue.
"My ship is on fire."
"It is."
"Your egg has hatched."
"Yes."
"When?"
"The night of the Myr wizard's death."
"That long? What happened tonight?"
"An accident. Nagini is learning how to control her fire."
"Nagini." The Crow's Eye looked at her. Tom had not stepped stroking her throughout the conversation. Nagini stayed quiet. For the past few weeks ,she made of habit of roaring or her version of roaring at the rats and small cats she found prowling around the dark corners of the ship.
"Join me." It was not a request.
Tom followed. He fell into step with his father. He would not suffer to walk behind him. "Kill them," the Crow Eye's said airly to the crew on his Silence. He had no use for a destroyed ship and crew to go with it. Screams filled the air. The stars twinkled above them. Then, there was silence.
The Crow Eye's led him and Nagini to his cabin. It always surprised Tom how bare the room felt. It was tidy, well-ordered and well-worn. There weren't many trinkets and items adorning the walls or shelves. Euron paid with the Iron Price for what he had, and Tom guessed the cabin would be much too small if the Crow's Eye were to store all of his treasures here.
The Crow's Eye sat in a chair. Tom didn't presume such luxuries. He stayed where he was near the door, watching his father warily. What would he do? Cut out his tongue or maybe tie him to the front of his ship as his new lady. Tom was replaceable as a bastard, a half a moon ago he attended the birth of his father's latest bastard by a favored wooly-haired woman of Summer Islander. Though the worst punishment Tom thought was him taking Nagini.
Tom barely moved out of the way when the an ugly dwarf, Trick, waddled into the room. In his hand was a horn, polished to shine and black as the midnight sea. It was covered in golden Valyrian sigils.
"Blow," commanded the Crow's Eye.
The dwarf blew. His face red.
An awful, screeching sound like a thousand cries and horrors mixed shook the room, Tom and Nagini screamed as one. Tom fell to his knees futilely trying to cover his ears. Nagini turned toward the sound and she gave her own belting cry. Pain.
It went on for an eternity. When it was done the dwarf fell to the wayside. His lips steamed. Tom was on the floor, breathing hard hot tears streamed down his face. The ringing of the terrible horn in his ears.
I will kill you for that.
There was no grand claim. No rush to strangle the Crow's Eye on his throne-like chair, staring at him with his smiling blue eye.
Tom said nothing. He got up on shaky legs, wiping his face, and tried to stand straight as he could. Nagini whimpered next to him. He hated her for that. "Quiet," he hissed. She would have to learn to weather pain. He reached down and stroked her spiny horns.
"Sit with me, bastard."
Tom sat obediently.
"Have I told you about your mother?"
He knew he had not. "No."
"She was a whore in Braavos. She was no beauty, but when she saw my black sail and golden kraken in port, she told me she smiled."
She was a fool.
"The woman came to me wet and willing and begging. She had a great ass and her teats were not half bad. She spoke to me."
"About?" Tom ventured, hoping it was not more talk about fuckery.
"Prophetic dreams. Nonsense, but she was noisy about krakens and wolf cubs and death."
Tom did not put much into prophecies, they were like the stories wyverns, basilisks, giant apes, vampire bats, and dragons. Tom glanced at Nagini. His own dragon.
"My mother was a Targaryen?"
"She did not have purple eyes or white hair."
Tom nodded.
"It matters not, whatever your mother has you have it. I have it."
"Yes." Tom understood immediately.
"Go."
Tom went. Nagini made to follow, but the Crow's Eye halting voice commanded him to make her stay.
Tom's eyes widened. No, rose in his throat, he caught it just in time. He considered what would happen if he did not listen. Incendio, a little flame was enough to engulf a sail. Surely, Nagini could do it again.
The Crow's Eye reached for the horn. All Tom thought was of Nagini's wail of pain. His pain.
"Nagini, stay."
He walked back slow, his eyes on. Nagini stayed.
He laid in the swinging beds that night and thought of nothing else but Euron Greyjoy's death.
Often, it was said the Ironborn only knew how to reave and rape. There was a small kernel of truth in the old saying, as it was true that the Starks were borne of wolves, Tyrells wrapped in thorns, and Lannisters shit gold. Tom found the Ironborn were masters in raiding, yes, but they were not a stupid people. Tom hated his father and thought he was insane, but he was not a fool.
The Crow's Eye said he was as learned as any lordling on the mainland. Tom did not want for his education, the Crow Eye's made sure he knew his sums and his basic letters enough to know and write his name, Tomlon.
A basic principle of the Ironborn was taking what they wanted and needed. Tom took books and teachers as his own. The few crew members of Silence with their tongues intact joked about those being Tom's salt wives. Tom treated what was his with great care as he outgrew infancy into manhood, he made doubly to sure to remind the Silence men to keep away from his things lest they risked a slow death. Tom also learned of Westeros and could name all the houses, sigils and their silly words. He knew an assortment of tongues well enough so he accompany his father wherever he went by the time he was three-and-ten. Magic too.
Tom kept his magic from his father. The Crow's Eye was hungry for warlocks and trades of old. In his crew, he kept a few claimed greenseers, skinwalkers and wizards from the Free Cities. Tom did not need his own innate magic to know those in his father's crew were little more than mummers. Tom knew real magic. Magic vastly more powerful than that of this world. Magic, he learned from his dreams, in a great stone castle and on many travels. Magic flowed within Tom. His knowledge came in piecemeal, bit by bit, year after year, memory after memory. If Tom knew he was so powerful, what stopped Tom from killing Euron Greyjoy and being done with it?
The horn.
Euron instilled fear inside Tom. It was the horn that prevented Tom from striking back. Euron allowed disposable, often new, members of his crew to blew the horn at his whim and as soon as Nagini had grown big enough to ride, Euron hadn't hesitated to send them into battle. Tom often woke in cold sweat when he remembered his first battle with Nagini.
Tom had ridden on her scaly back, clinging to one of her pale ridges, thighs pressed around her, and staring ahead of him instead of down. There were the enemy pirate ships below, their jolly rogers more like badly patched curtains. With the wail of the great horn and undoubtedly the shout of Euron, it was time for him and Nagini.
Incendio, Tom had screamed and Nagini reared her head back as she opened her mouth to blow, great streams of dragonfire coming from her. Three of the ships cracked apart. Another exploded. Tom had felt a heady rush of victory as he looked at the small men. The remaining ships fought back. Heavy balls of lead volleyed through the air. Tom was jerked with Nagini as they dodged this way and that until Nagini was hit.
Tom remembered spiralling and the jarring slap as he and Nagini crashed into the water. He was sure he blacked until he abruptly regained consciousness, fighting like Nagini until they slipped onto the surface, half floating and drowning until Euron pulled him aboard. Tom laid there like a landed fish in his seawater vomit. Nagini was aboard another ship, she sang softly to him, her vibrant green wings shined under the harsh light. The Crow's Eye had said nothing when he saw him, his eye hinting at curiosity.
Euron Greyjoy had many of his crew members blow from his horn that day. If Tom blacked out, Euron awakened him and waited until he was cognizant to begin anew. Tom never forgot the lesson, so he sought another facet to his education. Battle tactics.
Tom was aware of his weaknesses. He failed to inherit the taciturn nature of the Crow's Eye. He had no mind for battles and how they were won. Tom simply knew he had a dragon and others did not and not much had changed from the time Aegon and his sister wives conquered Westeros on their dragons.
It required a bit of imagination and extrapolation from vague sentences on dragonlords on ancient tomes. There were no more dragonlords, of course. There techniques lost with the Doom of Valyria and bastardized by the Targaryens. Tom borrowed from the Dothraki who mastered their horses to ride into battle. A dragon was like a bigger, more awesome horse. Tom realized he was behind the average Dothraki in development. They started to ride horses when they were just three, but there was little to do on the fourteen seas aside from practice.
Tom was given free reign to ride Nagini within sight of the ominous Silence. He practiced with Nagini day after day. When he could ride her without thought, he moved onto tricks and displays of magic. Tom swore to his girl they would achieve freedom.
Between practices, there were battles and battle experience. Victories kept them away from Euron Greyjoy's battlehorn. Tom resolved to win more.
Tom had seen twenty now, Nagini only nine and she was large. Tom felt she could swallow two aurochs whole. She was lean and nimble, fast. Her wings blocked out the sun when she took flight. It made Tom wonder just how the last of the Targaryen dragons were only the size of pups at their demise.
Silence docked in Braavos. Tom had the rare moment away from the Crow's Eye. He found his way to the House of Black and White.
There were a scattered few inside, spread between colorless pools and gods with many tributary candles. Women preferred the Weeping Woman. Lords preferred the Lion of the Night. Sailors liked the Moon-Pale Goddess and Merling King, but no one preferred the Stranger. No one except Tom.
Tom did not lower to his knees nor did he light a candle. Tom preferred to stand. He faced the Stranger as he would any man. The stone veil covered the Stranger's face. The Stranger could be any one of the gods or none at all. The Stranger was covered from all. Perhaps, it represented the mystery of Death. That was a force Tom believed in. Death was very real.
Light sprang on the Stranger. Tom blinked. He looked to the left to see a boy. He was a boy on the cusp of adulthood, though he held none of the awkwardness. His skin was tan like a nut and his black hair favored a crow's nest. Tom frowned at the boy's forehead free of blemish or scar, but it was the boy's eyes that caught Tom's attention. They were a violent, flashing green shade Tom only saw in his dreams accompanied by the death wail of a woman. The boy wore clothes of black and white. An acolyte.
Tom's eyebrows raised. The boy smiled, "Come along."