A little Dragon Queen ficlet born from an idea that has been haunting me for days. It's a little à la Game of Thones. Yes I may have imagined Regina dressed like a badass lady fighter from Westeros.
It's not betaread, sorry for mistakes. Hope you like it. Enjoy!
There's a legend they say. A legend that narrates the story of a dragon tamer, a beautiful, dark woman, with shadows in her eyes and an emptiness in her heart.
Nothing can fill that emptiness, they say, nothing can fill the hole left inside her by her many losses.
Still she endures, still she haunts this earth with her wondering, still she looks for a balm to soothe her pain. She hides her sorrow behind a blade, sheathed in leather, soaked in venom. She takes lives with her sword, she cuts off heads, just like her mother did. And sometimes, when the grief is too much, she pierces their victims' chest to the hilt of her weapon, before pulling out their still beating heart, coated in warm, red blood. No one can hope to survive when her wrath strikes, no one can hope to beat her in a fight.
She's called the merciless woman, born from a heartless mother. She's called invincible, the heart ripper. She's called the Evil Queen. But really, she's just a hopeless woman, she's just a dragon tamer.
No one had ever come near a dragon before. No one had ever dared. No one, except her.
They say she met the dragon by chance, while drying her long, ebony tresses by the lake, her horse standing close by. They say the dragon covered the earth with its shadow, but she wasn't afraid.
They say the movement of its wings made the ground tremble, the lake water ripple, but she wasn't afraid.
They say it landed softly, folding its huge wings along its scaled body, its tail moving incessantly, its big, yellow eyes staring at her. But she wasn't afraid.
She rose, flipped her hair back with regal composure, and stood her ground, unflinching.
They say the dragon neared her, its yellow-amber eyes so close she could see its black pupils shrinking to slits as it took her in. Yet she didn't step back. Yet she didn't hurt it - her father's sword, forged out of Valyrian steel, soaked in venom, remained sheathed.
So they drank each other in, black pools staring into amber ones, both refusing to yield.
Some say the dragon was about to kill her, others say her every nerve was tense, her muscles taut, ready to snap, not willing to join the gods without a fight.
She saw the patient wisdom of a hundred old men in its eyes, the dragon saw the pain of a hundred tortured souls in hers.
They drank each other in, until she raised one of her small, slender hands - careful, though not wavering - and touched it, ran her fingers along its chiseled snout, its unbreakable skin, felt the heat arise at her touch, the fire, the flames.
The dragon let her examine its own body with guarded curiosity. She ran her hands along its scales, black as the worst of nightmares, black as her own, tired heart. She reveled in the silky smoothness of its wings, the mighty power of its tail.
And when she tried to climb it, the dragon let her. Only when she reached the top, did the animal spread his wings and leave the ground with a mighty jump, the woman frantically gripping its scales, cutting her skin in the attempt, warm, dark red blood dripping down her wrists, soaking her fingers.
So they rose in the sky, the fresh air prickling her skin, tangling her hair up, expanding her lungs almost violently with every breath she took.
She felt giddy, like she'd never been in years, laughter bubbling up easily. She felt weightless, she felt free.
Those who saw her astride the dragon say they had never seen a woman more beautiful than her. Dark haired and sand skinned, her lips as red as blood. They say she got fire in her eyes, fire in her body and soul. They say she was ablaze and oh, what a wonderful flame she was.
The dragon made her strong, the dragon made her invincible. The dragon made her rise anew.
They don't know much about the fire-breathing animal that destroyed entire villages. They only saw its terrible form fly in the sky, the shadow of its wings cover the earth before it burst into flames, its terrifying screech chilling their blood.
Some say the dragon did it for fun, because it was evil of nature. Others say it did it to soothe its pain with vengeance, because men had once stolen its one and only cub, when the egg still hadn't hatched.
Some say the dragon lived in a ghastly cave, where only few had had the courage to venture and almost none had returned from.
Others say it lived in a stone cold castle, and that she was a woman too. A shapeshifter, they say, a powerful practitioner of magic. The mistress of all evil.
The few brave men that trespassed her hideaway and beheld her face are all dead now, but the legends remember her as a tall, lithe woman, with long golden hair cascading down her back in gentle waves. And her eyes, those no one can forget: a shade of deep blue, fierce and restless like the raging sea.
A powerful, scary, yet incredibly enticing woman. No one could resist the sweet roughness of her voice, the softness of her plump, pale lips, nor the designed sway of her hips, emphasised by the silk chitons she used to wear, that made her resemble a Greek goddess. Some say she was a goddess too.
No one could resist her, not even the dragon tamer could.
They say the two women became inseparable companions; merciless annihilators by day, passionate lovers by night. Great kings kneeled before them, entire realms trembled beholding the power of their fire. They were forged out of flames and steel, but melted in their lover's arms, malleable like clay. Their lover's kisses made their souls quiver, the echo of their shattering resonating in their empty hearts, spiralling towards climax.
Their bodies fought for dominance, goosebumps arising on their heated skin, warm breaths ghosting over taut bellies, soppy kisses left on groins, angry red lovebites marking their necks.
Their bodies fought for dominance, the tamer pinning the dragon to the sheets, riding it into oblivion, before the dragon could flip them over, taming its tamer with gentle and demanding hands until she moaned in a hoarse voice, toes curling in pleasure.
Their bodies fought for dominance, until they rested, sated and spent, in a tangle of limbs, staring at the ceiling, hearing each other breathe out the fire within their bodies.
No one had ever been able to beat the merciless woman in combat before. No one, except the dragon woman, the wise and resourceful sorceress.
No one had ever been able to tame a dragon before. No one, except the woman who dared, the woman with a venomous sword and a hole in her heart.
Their union was one of fire and blood.
Good? Bad? Leave me a comment below! :)