Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, settings or constructs from G.R.R. Martin's books. I'm simply having a little bit of fun with his toys.
A massive black lizard slammed down to the ground in front of Jon, whose eyes steeled over with the same look Ned's had as he stared at Arthur Dayne and Dawn, crashing down towards him, before Jon's birth. He cut a heroic figure, bleeding, disheveled, with hair silvered by snowflakes, yet valiantly standing his ground, with Longclaw glinting dangerously in the thinning light.
The black beast unleashed a booming roar and lashed out with a scaly claw at the Lord Commander. He slipped underneath it and charged towards its massive body, and let out an icy howl rivaling Ghost's own. Jon couldn't see his beloved direwolf, and could only pray for his safety as he plunged Longclaw as hard as he could into the dragon in front of him. The adrenaline from his previous fight still coursed through his veins, his heartbeat hammering maddeningly in his ears.
The black dragon reared up and flapped its wings, Jon's sword still lodged in its chest. It did not roar, or screech, but only unleashed a torrent of flames that washed over the Lord Commander's body with a warmth that banished all memories of Winter. Everything went as black as the raging behemoth snarled only a few feet above him.
(-=-=-=-=-)
Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Westeros, shivered in the cold keep of Winterfell, staring out onto the northern horizon. She had come to the northern capital two days ago to begin her very first tour of the major cities which she would be ruling. It was as much a political move as it was military, in order to make her presence known. She had decided to start with Winterfell, the northernmost city in her kingdom, and also the seat of the Stark family.
Daenerys had heard stories of the treacherous and bloodthirsty Starks from Viserys, though to him, everyone that was not a Targaryen was seemingly sub-human. It was actually Tyrion Lannister that had expounded more accurately upon House Stark and their nature. She had grown fond of talking with Bran, wise beyond his years, about his family – what was left of them. A shadow on the dying horizon shook her from her musings.
Dany's amethyst eyes rested upon Drogon's black frame, tinged with crimson in the distance, framed against the wall of grey skies and fading sunlight. Her other two dragons remained in King's Landing, a place she had conquered merely five months ago. She shook more violently, knowing that something was wrong. Something was wrong with her black dragon. She had felt it moments ago, and prayed for him to return immediately. In a silver flash, she was sprinting through the halls of Winterfell, her only concern for her 'child'.
She stepped into the courtyard as Drogon landed with a shrieking roar, taking notice of a bloody sword buried halfway into his chest, slick and red, pierced perfectly between two of his hard, armor-like scales. Drogon raged and slammed his tail against the ground in agony for what seemed like hours, before Dany was able to calm him down enough to deal with her beloved dragon's wound. She grabbed hold of the bastard sword, and yanked, dislodging the blade from Drogon's chest. She hummed to him, gently patting him, as she inspected the battle wound, taking great offense that somebody had dared to harm her dragon… But he was a dragon. Drogon had been hurt worse. He would live. As he was wont to do, Drogon quickly took to the skies again, riding high among the clouds, likely finding a place to recuperate. That was when she saw him.
Drogon had dropped what she thought to be lunch, but instead, Dany found herself staring at a peculiar, naked man with a thick head of black hair, sprawled face down in the frozen courtyard. The lean, muscular man was covered in blood and garish scars. He must have done this. He should be ash. She steeled herself, stepping towards the body cautiously, careful to keep the sword she had retrieved between herself and the stranger.
As she edged closer to the man, she heard a low growling behind her, starting as a low, guttural rumble. Before she could turn around, a great white wolf stalked past her, standing overtop the naked body of the man she was walking towards. He perched himself there, his blood red eyes focused narrowly upon the silvery wisp of a woman, clutching a bloodied sword. She raised the sword again, its awkward weight feeling impossible in her hands.
"Ghost? Why are you here?" Bran's voice came from the shadows, the hulking form of Hodor carrying the young, disabled Lord Stark. "Your Grace, your dragon woke me up. Are you alright? The roars were shaking the castle keep!" He looked alarmed as he called out to the prostrate form of his bastard brother, "Jon?! Jon! Hodor, take me to my brother!" The undersized giant lurched forward, conveying Bran to his unmoving brother. "We must get him inside. He looks badly injured…"
"That man attacked my dragon… with this." Dany held up the sword in question, still slick with Drogon's blood. Her silver hair seemed to float around her head in the breeze, as her face was drawn tight in rage. She eyed Ghost warily, and pointed to him and his master, lips pressed firmly together, "I demand that something be done! The blood of Drogon requires recompense, Lord Stark."
Bran's eyebrows raised in alarm; He had heard of the fiery temper of the Queen, but she had been nothing but pleasant during her stay at Winterfell. "Y-Your Grace! He is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch! He is my brother!"
"And a deserter, a traitor and a brigand!" The Queen looked down at Jon with contempt, as his wolf licks his face, similar to the way Drogon nudges her with his head. She banished all thoughts of the similarity, reminding herself of her beloved dragon's wounds.
The crippled Lord of Winterfell spoke quietly, "Your Grace, I don't mean to offend, but your dragon is a dragon. I don't understand why Jon would do such a thing… Please, Your Grace…" Bran watched Dany scowl, and set her face, mind made up. "We don't know all the details, and Jon's the only one who was there. Or do I need to remind you what happened the last time a Targaryen killed a Stark? Jon is a good man, Queen Daenerys… I beg of you."
Daenerys waved her hand violently, upset that her impulsiveness had been curbed. "Very well… " She fumed and huffed, angry for her dragon, and thoroughly livid at Bran's clarity of mind. She watched Hodor pick up Jon like a rag doll, as Bran thanked her for the life of his brother. Her lilac eyes smoldered like embers, as they rested on him. His bloodied, beaten face burned brightly in her memory, as she felt something cool and wet against her hand.
Ghost nuzzled her hand, and his red eyes locked with her own, before he silently padded after Jon Snow.
Author's Notes: Well… Thanks for all the reviews and reads guys! I appreciate it. I wanted Dany to show up, because apparently the story's about her and Jon Snow, but I just wanted to get a little different dynamic between them. I'm a little wary of the exchange of Dany and Bran, just because I felt like I forced it too much. Nothing of it flowed very naturally in my opinion. Stay tuned for the next update!
