Thanks to all the review, favorites and follows (even a community whoa!) for my story, I honestly didn't expect it!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Every right apart from the original plotline and maybe some new notions, goes to GRRM and HBO. Furthermore, if anybody knows the artist that made the new super cool image I found, and that goes perfectly with the general idea, could you please let me know so I can ask the person if it's ok to use it?
Acceptance. Rhaenys was very much familiar and acquainted with that particular feeling. It is what comes after all the more heavy emotions: anger, sorrow, pain, terror… She had been introduced to it early in life after all, one would be surprised if she hadn't met it at least once..
The first time was when she understood that no family remained to her anymore, her brother she liked to play with in his crib has been murdered, her gentle father had been destroyed and his body dishonored, her uncontrollable grandfather bled out on the ground of his home and her loving mother was tortured and then killed.
She had heard in ushered murmurings the things that had happened to them. No one overtly talked about it but their whispers weren't quiet enough to show they wanted to protect the little girl she had been. They talked about the deceased King with contempt and satisfaction over his death. Then, they switched on the subject of her mother and baby brother and pity filled their tone.
Acceptance came back when she learned that no matter where she was, she would always be alone and a stranger to her companions. She didn't look like any person she met: she had white gold hair, deep amethyst eyes, tan and olive toned skin and had a small stature. She also accepted the fact that every new person she would ever meet in her life will stare at the scar she had on the face.
It began on her left cheek, just under her big eye, and ran down to her collarbone. The closed wound wasn't ghastly, the various maesters and healers from Essos saw to that particular matter over the years with numerous salves and rituals, it was healed, very pale and almost didn't pucker up from the rest of her smooth skin. However, it was displayed and plain to see to anybody with eyes. It didn't take any of her prettiness away, but it didn't meet the expectations of what a lady of her rightful status should look like anymore.
Acceptance came back after she feared for months about her gift. Yet another thing distinguishing her from the rest. She thought herself a monster, an unnatural being because of the teachings she was given. Now she saw that those stemmed from fear of the unknown and uncommon. However, those dreams saved her and probably a lot of other people too. It led her to Asshaï where she knew she would learn what was necessary for survival.
The feeling of acceptance isn't very unlike resignation in the perception of many a man. However, when being resigned signifies also to not have any hope or will to make something out of it, acceptance was just a necessary step. First, the cause of a peculiar pain, then tears and mourning, and, when pity against our own self has passed, at the end there is calming yourself, thinking back about it and accepting it was what it was, that you couldn't go back in time but only move forward and learn from it.
It was the only thing she could feel as she advanced in the perpetual twilight of the Shadowlands towards one of the highest towers visible even in the middle of the sea. Rationally, she was prepared to face Rhaegal. She knew since a dream showed her riding towards the dawn while fighting the night, that the green dragon was her mind sharer. She also knew that when he finally came to her it would mark the start of the greatest battle that ever was. The war between Life and Death personified would finally be declared.
However, rationality couldn't deter the anxiousness and fear she could feel bubbling in her. Terror gripped her ferociously at the thoughts traveling through her mind: blood, death, chaos… a dragon. Even though she dreamed and connected as much as possible while separated with Rhaegal, and knowing that he was real, nothing could really prepare her to hear his roar in the distance. The sound startled the entire city. People that were accustomed to various kinds of sorcery, blood magic and shadow baby killers felt dread at the cry of such a beast, she could see it on their faces as she walked through the unusually full streets of Asshaï.
She was a little thankful of their dread because it took the edge of her own fear, dulling the effect of suddenness and leaving only the cold fear. She could manage that. She knew it.
Slowly, she reached the side of the tower towards which her dragon was aiming for, and in a calm pace hiding the jumbled mess of her emotions, stepped on the staircase revolving around the millenniums old black building.
The tower shook when she was only midway on her path, as Rhaegal finally landed on the flat surface at the top. Rhaenys paused and closed her eyes to try and regain the modest composure she had obtained only moments ago. She couldn't let herself be weak. Humankind needed her. Westeros, and ultimately Essos when the White walkers learned how to use ships with their wights, needed her. Most importantly, Jon and Daenerys needed her.
She was a Targaryen. She was strong. She was a … the mantra repeated in her head incessantly allowing her a small modicum of rigid strength straitening her spine and focusing her mind on the purpose of her life.
The steps of the staircase once again passed one by one under her feet as she found a rhythm she knew wasn't one would qualify as courageous, but she still deemed it acceptable under the strenuous circumstances she was in. Now, only one single step separated her from the mystical creature. She regained her breath in the arch of the pike on the tower that lead to the flat top where he waited for her.
She set her shoulders straight and in a confident posture and advanced decidedly towards Rhaegal. Carefulness was of course needed if she wanted the dragon to remain as calm as she wanted herself to be. Still, even after stopping a few feet only in front of him, she hadn't really looked upon the dragon. If anybody else had been with her, it would have seemed as if she had, in fact, looked at him, only, she directed her vision slightly towards the side to avoid looking directly at the dragon before being at least acclimated to the knowledge he really was there just before her.
"Enough cowardice Rhaenys" she told herself and finally gazed upon the green creature in front of her.
At first she only saw a sea of green. The green of deep moss in dark forests meeting the precious jade found in faraway lands. Scales of every possible tones and nuances of the color fused into each other and formed the impression a hill of luxurious nature enjoying the winds.
With a second glance, rivers of bronze flowed sometimes across the green. The luxurious streaks sketched across his body a design of lines inter crossing and melting into each other. She could see the linings meeting on his belly, visible in his sitting position, and progressively fading into the dark obsidian already present there.
She rose her gaze upwards in a slow motion and observed his massive head. The eyes of the dragon were even more bright and luxurious in their glowing brightness than the bronze of the ceremonial plates in the rich faith among many in Asshaï where the pious sacrificed blood of any kind. It seemed the beast observed her too. She detected in his pools of rich bronze a considerable amount of intelligence that surprised even her, after all her studies on the particular subject.
He seemed calm and aware of who stood in front of him. However, she also knew through the brief glimpses he projected to her in the past, that while he could be the most reserved of his living companions, he was also the most cruel in some occasions. The untamed feral rage simmered in his otherwise poised eyes.
He had the means to back up his ferocity: bronze horns so long they could stab two men at once, sharp teeth gleaming in the muted light of the Shadows, claws so strong that in one swipe they had the means to cut a man in half. The strength of his flames was already exuding from his body in heated waves. They would burn hundreds if uncontrolled.
Instinct led her to advance her hand so boldly towards his strong jaws. He would be in control for their bonding. Rhaegal sniffed the skin presented to him and moved to let it get into his fiery mouth. One of his front teeth in a sudden and quick move, cut her palm in a painful slice and his tongue forked to the wounded flesh to pluck the red river from her outstretched hand. The cut swiftly began to heal when the meat mended from the heat of his tongue.
She regained her hand and let it fall at her side. Rhaenys stood unmoving, waiting, for a moment. A frown directed at him marred her features. She understood at that moment, that, unless she showed him she was worthy of him, he wouldn't complete the ritual of bonding.
"Rhaegal. Your turn has come to let your blood for me. You may be stronger dragon, but I will not concede to you." She paused, to see if he would heed her words, after her calm and determined speech. After a silence void of any action, her voice rose more powerful and commanding, worthy of a true Targaryen. "Give me your blood!"
Finally, after a brief contemplation from him, he rose his right wing and bit deeply in a fleshy part. Nonetheless, he didn't offer her the appendage. It seemed a final move had to be made.
A single step, and she grabbed the strong leathery skin with all the force she had, and approached the wound oozing with the darkest red blood she had ever seen. She gulped the liquid immediately after putting her mouth on him.
As it ran down the inside of her body, she could feel the power of dragon blood she always had inside her molding with the blood of her dragon that burned her insides mercilessly. But no pain could be felt, only a bond.
Slowly she extracted herself from the source she sipped for a long while, and looked into the melted bronze of Rhaegal's eyes unwaveringly, as if daring him to rebuke her claim. He only lowered his head in a small movement to acknowledge the connection they shared from now until the rest of their days.
Rhaenys softly extended her cut hand to his head and at last caressed him as a bonded should. She smiled when he closed his eyes and rumbled quietly because of the small attention. After a moment spent sharing their new found joy and passing their feelings of completion to the other through their shared mind, she stepped back and went to his side. Her hand enclosed his left horn with a gentle grip as she prudently, not wanting to hurt him, made to sit on the nape of his neck where no protruding bigger scale could be felt.
He understood her aim and lowered his head a little to ease their first ride, both were unaccustomed to the particular experience. As she sat on him, she contemplated giving him orders or letting him decide the moment of their departure.
"Fly for me, Rhaegal the Wild." she whispered in his ear.
A mighty roar escaped him as he began flapping his wings to get altitude. She could feel the satisfaction he had of finally finding a rider worthy of him, commanding but respectful, and showing her what he was capable of. Meanwhile, Rhaenys could only gape in admiration at the feeling of being in the airs, flying over the great City in the Shadowlands and feeling the wind caressing her cheeks softly. A smile broke on her face like it hadn't in a very long time.
Jon couldn't believe he accomplished one of the wildest and grandest dreams of mankind in its entirety: he flew!
Wind clawed at the sensible skin of his body. When the mutinous Crows put fire at him, he remained, however, most of his garments hadn't. The only pieces of clothing he wore on himself were those that he managed to somehow salvage from the fires on his own body and those of his old companions. The sizes didn't fit him correctly, either from the stature of the previous owner or from the heat of the fire scrunching the materials and reducing their size. He could feel the bite of the frozen air of the North biting at various places on his legs, arms, torso, back and mostly on the neck and face.
However, he didn't complain. The utter joy at looping and soaring through the sky and riding a fucking dragon couldn't be described, even if he wanted to. It was like the completion of a hard journey through the mountains when you finally reached the very top. Or even like the biggest accomplishment he could ever imagine. Never had Jon felt such elation as when he experienced the land of birds. Not even cumming in Ygritte's cunt released something as magnificent in him as this.
Feeling Viserion under him, providing him with warmth through his scales and contentment through his mind only helped accentuating the light-headedness. He discerned joy in the dragon and smiled.
Unfortunately, Jon should have expected that the moment couldn't extend any longer, he should have known that smiling that much in those troubled time couldn't have possibly continued. As he had shared once again his mind with the creature, the acute vision he provided him with saw things a simple man eye couldn't hope to ever see.
In the distance he saw a group of wildlings attacking a encampment exclusively made of women and children. A pang wounded his heart when he realized it was too late. The last child was about to be killed by a man holding a sturdy sparrow and crying unexpected tears when the blade sank into the little boy's heart. The adult knelt in front of the corpse and embraced him briefly before grabbing it and placing it at the already lit massive funeral pyre. Some of the men threw themselves in it too after plunging a dagger through their own guts, the crying man included. Jon then, understood that those were families, giving themselves one last act of desperation and mercy by killing their own and burning the dead. They didn't want to succumb to Others and then be a slave to Eternal Death.
He saw the reason they decided to act: three groups of undead raced towards the smell of living flesh, encircling the settlement all around. Jon could see the wights running unnaturally fast and without any purpose other than devouring breathing men, Others sitting on their frozen horses of massive stature or just leading calmly at foot the raised again dead.
Then, he saw that the location wasn't very far from the cave they left Ghost in and in a split moment a decision has been made. He knew that the call of blood from mystical creatures was almost as strong as that of men from Old Nan's become truths stories, and that his direwolf would be greatly outnumbered. It only left one thing to do: burn them all to ashes.
Viserion understood the intention of his rider without any needed word from Jon. The dragon roared as he flew towards the groups of Others. After a few seconds they reached the one nearer to them. Jon could see that the wights didn't even react other than screeching at the creature when their masters gave them the order to attack. Those masters had just looked cold and inexpressive at the sight of a white dragon dominating the airs.
The beast didn't wait for a signal from Jon, he sent white torching flames at the unnatural beings. Jon could smell the putrid smell of the undead melting, it was the perpetual cold that previously held the unpleasantness back, but at such a scale he guessed it couldn't be contained any more. The wights burned immediately, but the Walkers observed from the most part after retreating slightly from the hecatomb. Jon didn't let them get away as he showed Viserion through their shared minds that they couldn't let them go and regroup with the remaining groups.
After they killed all the beings they could see, they repeated the process on the other two batches. Even if all weren't destroyed, it already cut down a substantial amount from the future battles.
As they meant to leave and began their flying travel to the cave, Jon saw briefly a small troop of mounted frozen horses with White Walkers. One in particular, the apparent leader, unnerved him, he looked at Jon with contemplation. In previous occasions he only read unresponsiveness on their frost filled faces. But that one had a reasoning mind and obviously used it to coordinate attacks. That piece of information had been missing, but now he knew that mankind couldn't merely assume anymore on the matters of eternal Cold. He wanted to go and abolish those too, but saw that Ghost exited from his resting place and crouched, growling at a hidden enemy.
Quickly, the furry companion being more important, they hightailed to the cave and burned right on time a small group of wights trying to jump on the direwolf and overpower him.
He got back on the firm soil after dismounting Viserion and petting him briefly for his good work. Ghost approached them and nuzzled him softly to reassure himself of his well being. Jon knelt and encircled his arms around the giant wolf's head.
"Don't worry about me old friend, Viserion protected me." he relieved Ghost of his worries. He stayed there hugging his remaining living memory of Winterfell while caressing with one hand the cream scales of his new ally.
As he was about to stand up, the key he perpetually wore around his neck no matter the circumstances, jiggled and perked his attention. This was another memory of happier times and a token for a made promise.
"Let's go home now.." he murmured.
Hope you still like it you all and are kept interested by the story!
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