Yo, though of an idea, decided to type it up, and here it is.
This is only a prologue, unsure if i'm going to continue it so let me know if you enjoy.
Just a warning that this is relatively AU. The overall plot remains the same, with changes respective to changes i've made in characters and subsequent character development
Flip of a coin
Indigo eyes blinked rapidly as chaos reigned before him. His mouth tasted like iron and his face stung as sweat seeped into the cuts that littered his face.
"Muna!" A young voice called over the ringing of his ears and he stumbled forwards, a hand clutching his head.
Another explosion ripped through the city and his bones shook as he was thrown through the air. The wind left him as he landed roughly on the cobbled stone and he wretched a globule of blood onto the disturbed ground.
"Sweetling, it's time to get up." A kind voice spoke in his ear and he shook his head in protest, "Sweetling-"
"Shut up!" He roared, clenching his fists as he pulled himself to his knees, "Shut up." He echoed, this time his voice weak and tired.
Unsteadily, he found his feet and for a moment he simply stood there, absorbed in the taste, the smell, the pain as a short gasp of laughter escaped his lips.
"I fucking said so." He mumbled as he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes now focused and narrowed, "But nobody listened, did they?"
It had been a few months since he had arrived in Mereen. He had found the largest of the three great Slaver Cities overwhelming at first. From the sly but bright eccentric nobles dressed in their patterned Ghiscari tokars to the stubborn, impoverished peasants and lastly the defeated and broken slaves, the people were disparate but content at face value. He remembered being awed by the towering structures of the Great Pyramid and the Temple of the Graces, the exotic smells and colours of the purple lotus and the brutal form of the Daznak pit.
Everything had changed however when the dragon Queen moved in. Everything the people knew had been turned on its head. Slavery had been abolished. The Great Masters had lost all their power and the smallfolk were now divided. A group calling themselves 'Sons of the Harpy' had risen from the chaos, murdering, raping and pillaging in the name of the old slaving ways, whereas the shavepates shouted the Queen's praise from the rooftops for liberating them.
He had felt the tension rising. Like a festering wound the city's discontent, its divide had only greatened. He did not support slavery. He thought it an archaic practice, but at the very least the city was coherent. It had a flowed smoothly like a mountain river, the only disturbance to the gentle ebb being the occasional large rock or wayward trunk. The dragon Queen had placed a dam in that river. The tide had not just been disturbed, it had been stopped altogether. The wheel had been broken.
Suddenly, a heavy set Tyroshi man with singed pale blue hair in a dirtied green tokar scrambled past him from within the dusty mist. A river of blood trailed behind the man and he idly noticed the Tyroshi was missing the rest of his arm at the elbow. He would probably die soon.
Around him, bodies were splayed in the rubble. Some, he noted seemed almost peaceful in their eternal slumber, their faces serene but covered in dust and ash as if they had been over-zealous in their application of make-up. Others however lay in bloody pools, their remains charred, cut, and bludgeoned. Scorched, torn and broken.
The wails of a woman reached his ears, shaking him out of his stupor.
Searching for the voice he stumbled forwards wincing as a pain pierced his side. He absentmindedly reached to his waist and let out a soft sigh as his fingers touched the pommel of his sword.
"Shut up, aspo." He heard a gruff voice snarl in a mix of broken Valyrian and common tongue.
Tripping over the remains of a crippled statue, he leant onto a nearby wall. The cries of the woman seemed more prominent now. Craning his neck, he peered down the alleyway next to him and felt his head ache as a frown etched across his face.
Plumes of dirt illuminated by thin rays of light spilled down from the rooftops as a bundle of figures wrestled in the rubble.
"Hel-!" a cry began before the sharp sound of palm meeting cheek rang out among the chorus of screams and crumbling building, "help!"
He had heard enough.
Stepping forward shakily he approached the tangled bodies. The woman cried out in pain and fear as the man struck here again and he heard her whimpering for help.
"No one can here you, whore." The figure on top growled, his voice a thick mess of Westerosi and bastard Valyrian.
"I hear everything."
The figure spun round, his cock hanging out of his breeches and his mouth set in a stern sneer, "Who the fu-" He began before a sword lashed out quicker than he could finish his slur. Blood poured from between his lips as a red gouge surfaced across his neck, so deep it nearly showed the bone.
The rapist's hands rose to his throat but he collapsed to the side before they reached their destination, his eyes wide and crazed.
The woman heaved deep breaths, propped on her elbows as she watched her offender struggle to draw his last breath and then still, his legs still straddling her.
His amethyst eyes watched her carefully, noting her bronzed skin and pitch black hair, her high cheekbones and softly pointed chin.
"Th- thank you." She breathed, her voice shaky and pained.
He nodded slowly and stepped forward, unceremoniously kicking the still figure off the woman, "Can you stand?" the woman seemed startled by his voice but inclined her head nonetheless, "Then stand."
He reached out his hand and the woman took it, wincing slightly as he pulled her upright. Her eyes were frantic as they dotted between the bloody figure on the floor and his own form.
"Your name?"
His voice snapped her out of whatever trance she was in and she straightened herself somewhat, "Saera."
"Just Saera?" He asked, an eyebrow raised as he wiped his sword clean on the rapist's cloak.
"Just Saera." She confirmed with a shaky nod.
"That's a High Valyrian name." He commented, turning and stepping back down the alley the same way he'd come from.
"Y-you know of High Valyrian?" He softly accented voice followed behind him as another explosion sounded in the near distance. He felt her hand grasp at the back of his cloak and tilted his head to look her in the eye. He did not reply however and the pair turned the corner, the woman still clutching at his side.
Working their way through a destroyed market, attempting to avoid the bloodied corpses and tumbling rubble, they weaved through the wreckage. Occasionally the woman would gasp and a choked sob would escape her lips as she laid eyes on a particularly gruesome body.
Perhaps someone she once knew, he thought absentmindedly
Turning a corner they came across a quaint plaza, ruined by the chaos of the siege. In the centre, a small battle raged. A small cluster of smallfolk scrabbled to defend themselves against a larger group of Sons of the Harpy. Glints of gold shone in the afternoon sun as the Sons cut their way through the common people, most likely shavepates, who had little to defend themselves with.
He grunted as he gazed upon the scene and grabbed the woman's arm, pulling her to the side, "Stay here." He ordered.
"Wait! You can't." She protested, crumpling onto a broken stone bench.
"I can." He replied simply before marching towards the fight, ignoring the woman's cries.
Drawing his sword he struck upwards at the back of the nearest Harpy, a spray of blood marking his dark red lamellar chest piece. The body crumpled forwards in a cry of pain and the shavepate the Harpy was assaulting watched him with wide eyes.
He moved past the common folk without a word and moved to his next target. He lashed out with his blade and pierced one Harpy in the side, and then slashed outwards in an arch cutting another stood adjacently.
"Behind you, sweetling."
He growled and spun on his heel only to duck as a dagger clipped the dark hairs atop his head. The Harpy barely had time to cry out as his sword struck at the gold mask, slicing it in two along with the flesh underneath.
A grin tugged at his lips as he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of battle before moving on.
One by one, he worked his way through the Harpies, unrelenting in his assault. His vision blurred as carnage unfolded in his wake. He felt the sting of their daggers as they cut at his skin, the tired in his muscles and rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
Finally, with a grunt of exertion he pulled his sword sluggishly from the chest of the last Harpy, and he let of a tired sigh before a weak chuckle escaped his lips. He felt alive.
Around him, the shavepates left alive were watching him with an expression he was all too familiar with, a mix of fear and awe, disgust and respect. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He turned wearily and met eyes with the softly spoken Volantenes woman he had helped before and frowned as she flinched under his gaze.
Running a hand through his dirtied matted locks and smoothing them back over his head, he stumbled forwards, feeling a strange sense of blunt mirth as the crowd parted before him.
He heard their whispers. Where ever he went, they would whisper. Spinning tales of madness, stories of blood.
Everywhere he went, they followed him.
A heavy roar shattered the sky as a shadow whipped across the cityscape.
A dragon.
He watched eyes like that of a child as the large scaled beast stretched its dark wings and the sound of thunder clapped. He found himself in complete awe its enormity.
Its scales were as black as night, its horns blood red and dragon fire a black maroon. He recalled stories of Balerion the black dread, the monolithic dragon that was ridden by King Aegon the Conqueror, said to have lived for 200 years.
As he gazed into the skies, a burning projectile crashed into the plaza and erupted in a fiery blaze, and he scrambled forwards, eyes bleary and unfocused.
He need to get higher.
To his left, the towering structure of the great pyramid loomed over him and he hastily found his way to set of crumbling stairs leading out the lower district, ignoring the screams that echoed behind him.
With heavy breaths he reached a baron platform at the summit of the steps, its turf gravelled and spotted with clouds of green brush. Behind him the foundations of the great pyramid began, but before him lay Mereen, alight and afire in all its glory. Plumes of ominous dark smoke billowed up from the mixed stone buildings and fire rained down from the ship held trebuchets. He heard another great roar and in the distance the made out the reincarnation of Balerion the black dread breathe hell fire on the invading armada before gliding back over the city.
His body shuddered as the ground shook and the crumbling of stone sounded to his side. The lower wall of the great pyramid then bulged before bursting outwards in a dark cloud of rubble and dust. From the gloom, two large reptilian figures emerged.
Overhead, the black dragon soared and he thought he caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair atop its back. The two beasts, still obscured by the veil of soot roared up at the beast and he felt as though they were doing so almost in greeting, like welcoming a long lost friend. The first to surface through the gloom was a graceful looking thing. Its scales were a light cream, almost touching upon white. The textured horns protruding from its skull, spinal crest and wing bones a regal gold. The dragon gave a guttural growl before launching itself from its hind legs into the air after its sibling.
The second dragon watched its brother take flight with an encouraging cry as it prowled forwards into the open air.
He watched as the beast rose upon its haunches, stretching to its full height. Its emerald green scales, laced with hints of copper gold glistened in sun. It flexed its leather jade wings and spewed a torrent of white hot flames laced with veins of green like wildfire and the heat licked against his face even though he was a good 30 feet away.
Despite the budding fear that clutched at his heart, and every instinct telling him to turn and run, lest he be roasted alive, he could not.
The dragon craned its neck and he felt his breath hitch as indigo met burning yellow.
Without thinking, he took a step forwards and the emerald dragon lurched forwards also, propping itself on its clawed wings.
"Fuck me." He breathed as the beast continued prowling towards him, a steady growl emanating from its mouth. He could now feel the dragon's hot breath brush against him, a harsh blend of flesh and ash. Feet rooted to the ground, he could do naught but meet its piercing gaze, "There's a good dragon." He mumbled, his lips barely moving and body rigid.
The snout of the huge reptile was now within arm's reach, its stare so intense he felt as though it were looking straight through him, searching for something hidden, concealed beneath the skin.
"Greet him, sweetling."
He shook his head dismissively and the dragon snorted through its nostrils, blowing his hair back gently.
"Greet him."
Hesitantly, he reached out his hand taking a half step forwards as he did so. After what felt like minutes, his calloused fingers touched the emerald scales of its snout and he was momentarily startled by their softness. While not as comforting as a feathered cot, the scales resembled the texture of a worn leather armchair. Nonetheless, he could feel the strength of the lamellar skin, capable of deflecting arrows and sword blows alike.
"Hello." He spoke, his voice but a whisper as he smoothed his hand over to the side of the dragon's snout. The great beast let out a baritone rumble which he could only equate to some form of greeting and he found himself amused, despite his fear, at the thought of a dragon purring.
"Never did I think," He began breathlessly, stepping to the side with his hand trailing up towards its jaw, "That I would see a living dragon." He let out a short chuckle and shook his head, sliding his hand under the dragon's chin like it were a common pup, "I've read about dragons. A lot, in fact." He continued, feeling the beast's eye watching him intently, "There was Balerion the black dread who your brother seems to take after," The dragon growled and couldn't help the straggled laughter that escaped his lips, "A-and then Meraxes, Vhagar… Meleys the Red Queen and Vermithor the Bronze Fury…"
He felt the dragon tense under his palm as his vision blurred slightly. He leant forwards on the reptile's head and felt it lean into his body.
"So, what's your name, green one?" He asked, only just noticing the pool of blood that had begun to accumulate at his feet, "Kastagon?"
The dragon tilted it's head and growled softly.
"Not that then." He murmured, "I suppose, your Mother probably named you and your Brothers after her family, since they're all gone."
He felt his legs weaken and he slowly slid to the floor, only half acknowledging the dragon's head supporting his decent.
"It wouldn't be Aerys, the mad old cunt." He rambled on, "and… I'm pretty sure you're a male?"
A deep exhale brushed over his head in affirmation.
"So… Rhaegar?" he concluded tentatively and the dragon immediately resumed its guttural purr, "Ah… so it's Rhaegar is it? Well…" He patted the beast's scaled body tiredly; his eyes now closed and weary, "Well met, Rhaegar. I hope we can be friends."
His head lolled to the side as the clutch of unconsciousness began to tighten around him. He felt the dragon nudge him slightly and he laughed, a weak choked laugh in spite of his state.
"Sorry, I forgot." He slurred, "People call me many names, but you can call me Jon."
Hey! Thanks for reading. This is just a test run really, new to the whole ASOIAF fanfic writing scene.
As a person pretty invested in mental health (having studied it for 6 years), I've always found the idea of the Targaryen madness interesting, so I thought I'd try and incorporate that into this fic as an underlying theme.
This is just a prologue so post a fave, review or follow if you enjoyed, have any criticism or just want to read more.
Cheers