Chapter Seven

"I'll fight by my right and for my kind,"

-Smaug II

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Dragons are powerful creatures, powerful enough to destroy nations or rise them up. Even their sea cousins, the Widhal bow to them on their full might and strength. However right now, Balerion as he is named by his beloved whelp Rhaenys certainly don't feel almighty and powerful as he crept on his own house unwilling to get caught by the residents trying to escape on the dead of night. Rhaenys and the others are asleep of course, but unlike Ashara and Aegon, the rest of them are such light sleepers that any obvious continuing scrapes of his scales would lead to them investigating and he being found out. His poor ears simply can't handle Elia's lectures of responsibility and Rhaenys' interrogations as to why he is leaving her behind.

So here he is, creeping on his own damn lair like a thief with two fingers on every paw to make sure that he did not make any sound whatsoever , he almost felt relief as he finally reach the opening end of his lair. Finally he could get out, finish his business and return in the morning. None would be the wiser.

Unfortunately, his luck isn't as good as he think it is.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Fuck!"

Moving his head slowly to the source of the very familiar voice, he can't help but sweatdrop at the tapping form of Elia glaring at him. It's amazing how much difference her thirteen year stay here at his lair had changed the relationship between them. The two-legs-mother-of-his-adopted-whelp remained true to the words of her house, Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken and despite the numerous bullying and scaring he tried on her, she had never backed down unlike Ashara from him despite the uncounted times she accidentally pissed herself in fear. It's the only reason why she's sharing the tutelage of her children with him else he would educate them fully in the draconic way. For all intents and purposes she gained his respect and that is a big thing since his kind rarely gives their respect, and to a two-legs rarer.

"I need to hunt," he replied simply wincing at the rather unconvinced eyebrow that immediately rose up the moment he finished his sentence. Oh yes, Elia had extreme talent on finding out lies thanks to her time being the Princess Consort of Rhaegar Targaryen. (thank you Aegon for reading that information for me)

"Fine," he simply huffed making his voice as silent as possible despite knowing the fact that everybody would have heard by now for it almost echoing from room to room. "Personal business," when she still doesn't look convinced he finally gave up a weary sigh before struggling to form the words in his mouth. "My kind's business,"

The two of them simply remained where they are staring at one another, neither side blinking and cowing down before Elia finally conceded. "Good, safe journeys wherever you are going Balerion,"

Seeing that it is the end of the conversation, he prepared once more to go to the side of the ledge when she called out once more making him turn his head back to her with a small sigh only to be surprised at the small smirk adorning her face looking back.

"And please do come back on the morning. My daughter would be distraught if she found out that you accidentally killed yourself in a ditch and would not be returning," having said her piece, the princess of Dorne walked off leaving a flabbergasted dragon at the touch of concern she just said before chuckling softly to himself. Two-legs really are weird creatures. Still, it's a good thing to have someone worry for you other than yourself.

Walking towards the edge, he inhaled once the smell of the fresh air, delighted at the taste of evening air before finally jumping over the edge. Yes, jumping and not flying. Feeling the air waft over his face on his freefall, he smirked at the feeling of falling. This must be how two-legs feel every time he rolls one of them over the edge. It's a pity that they don't have wings like he does. The sensation is extraordinary.

Closing his eyes as he focused on his magic, it did not take long for him to find the familiar soothing feeling that he inherited from the former human life conjoined to his which only increased tenfold as his entire being laced with magic made connection with the alien one in him. He smirked as he felt draw closer and the magic in him bending finally to the full might of his will and fillng every nook and cranny of his flesh before finally the sensation of being pushed into a rubber tube emanated.

If anyone is watching from afar, all they would have seen is a massive golden figure almost hitting the ground before disappearing with a loud CRACK! at the last second.

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His fingers rolled idly on the piece of parchment on his hand idly as he watched through the window on his room the entirety of King's Landing down below him. He may look as cool as a cucumber but Varys, also known as the Spider and the current Spymaster of Westeros is greatly troubled as his mind wracked as to how to salvage this situation at Essos.

The paper he is rolling over his palms right now contained the most troubling of messages he had received in the past decade. Ilyrio is apparently dead and that alone shouldn't have worried him, the magister have his uses but not to the magnitude that he would damage the Spider's long term plans on putting the Targaryens back on the throne. The manner of his death though is the complete opposite if it is to be believed in any way at least.

A dragon, a dragon of all things apparently ate the fat Magister and killed two of his guards before leaving. Now if not for the fact that it is written by one of Varys' most trusted spy on Essos, he would have waved it off as nothing more than rumor or hearsay that the Targaryens spread to terrify the fat king keeping the Iron Throne warm. As it is, he knew that he needed to keep an eye even more of the things going on at the East to really prove the authenticity of this message. At least this time he had a direction where to send most of his spies compared to let them wander the entirety of Essos without direction. Who knows maybe they would even find clues on the lost wife and children of Rhaegar Targaryen. For now he needed to find a way to report this sighting of a dragon to the Small Council and the King without making them to overly believable. News is Viserys after all is on his way to finally negotiating the final touches for his sister's wedding to a Dothraki Khal and he needed the boy to survive and focused, not dodging assassins every now and then.

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Did he ever mention that he hated the cold? As it is he simply pushed on despite the numbing feeling sweeping over him as he flew over the clouds guided only by his instincts and his blood. Apparition half an hour ago brought him closer to his destination but also made him almost crash down on a humongous wall of ice that appeared out of nowhere. Let's just say that he simply did not enjoy crashing down headfirst on the cold construct. Thankfully the single two-legs in black walking along the wall proved enough of a delicacy to minimize his annoyance at best and give him semblance of his common sense.

He'll admit though that his time here on this land is interesting. Magic guided by his will to follow his instinct brought him here and despite the tragic landing, he gets to see new sights at least. Everything he felt so far is magical. From the humongous wall big enough for him to perch comfortably to the trees down below which made him feel as if someone is looking at him, and even to the very stormy weather that is proving to be more than an annoyance as he spend even more time wasting energy to plow through it and follow the directions dictated by his instincts (and fate).

To put it into words for him is complicated. He is a creature of fire and something had awakened in him that made him not only want to go here, but need to go here. An ancient enemy, one that his kind both feared and hated the most ever since the dawn of time when the world is young and a war that is almost forgotten by men are fought in dominion of the land. If that same enemy still lives or at least a part of it that made his instincts call out to him here, his blood demands that they die.

Easier said than done though, he grunted despite his immense pride as his wings felt heavy on every flap. It is as if every buffet and every snowflake that touches his body weighed him down. Magic laced the very air he breathed and despite his own magic and heat countering it, it is not enough to make him comfortable and damn since when did he became uncomfortable in the long years? The farthest he can remember is when Ashara plopped a soap bar in his mouth when he's sleeping as revenge for licking her privates (hehehehe (drool)). Now that's very uncomfortable.

Too lost on the thought and memories of making that violet eyed female scream in alarm as he tasted her, he almost missed the white flying thing flying at him in high speeds and would have skewered him if not for the sudden wakeup call that made him bank in time to avoid the deadly projectile by cartwheeling on the air. The move however is clumsily done and he roared as the mixed heavy weather and the weight of his bad maneuver made him lost his balance and he barely managed to channel the necessary magic for a cushioning charm at his back before bracing himself as he impacted the ground with a thunderous crash.

He groaned as he immediately pulled himself together despite the pain of his wounds in the back. He is sure that if he turned, the wounds would look horrendous to look upon. To someone his size however, it is nothing more than a scratch and would neither bother him nor reduce his abilities. As it is, amber eyes glared hatefully at the figure that slowly emerged from the ice, pale blue skin almost invisible in the eyes as he advanced towards him.

"My old enemy, you cannot hide from me. No matter what form you choose to wear. Let your true self be revealed! A roaring sound echoed on the ice as golden maws opened to the fullest bathing the walking figure with pure flames even as it held its hand up, a cold barrier blocking the majority of the dragon fire. It didn't cover it fully though and the pale skin melted bit by bit and also the small storm surrounding the pale figure showing off black scale armor over blue skin. The hair at its head also melted revealing a jagged crown made of ice glinting despite the massive storm. Cold blue eyes, as cold as the dead stared defiantly back at the amber ones as the fire finally dissipitated leaving the two glaring at one another in sharpened stares.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here abomination!" the icy voice of the Night King sounded like cracked ice as it glared venomously at the overgrown lizard already a spear of ice slowly manifesting on its hands. "And you will die here today,"

"You should have stayed dead!" he simply snorted in response puffing out twin jets of flame before charging forward.

In the Land of Always Winter, the battle of fire and ice is witnessed by no one.

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