"Did you hear? Five separate armies?"

"No! Did YOU hear, the king is closing people out of his castle?"

Squabble and gossip and rumors spread around the town, probably around the world, like wild fire. The red streak still filled the sky, its haunting trailing shimmer glistening like a painter's wet brushstroke of blood across a clear blue sky. Since Ned Stark's death, I've hated being in the town square, even to gather my much needed materials. It seems like all these idiots have time for is gossip. I really do wish one of the other armies would wash away that ignorant little idiot's existence. False prince. Lions or stags were never meant to rule, lions just roar loudly and try to scratch. Just big dumb kittens. Stags….. Well stags have always been fodder for predators. But alas, I forget my place. I am Asher Waters, a bastard blacksmith raised by a master blacksmith. Just a sooty faced, black haired, bastard grateful to be alive. But I had grown fully into my blacksmith stature.

As a twenty one year old, I had grown up and out. Over six feet, but under six and a half. Stronger and more muscular than most men in Rosby and King's landing, all except the mountain and the hound. I was just shorter and weaker than those two. My lilac eyes still gleaming like an oddity. My once fair face had hardened into that of a man's face. Rough, bearded, endured of the hardening years of boyhood. My blackened hair and eyebrows, darker than the night's watch clothes, kept short, barely able to grab a fistful of hair. I had struck a deal with the tailor ever since I was 17, he would make me semi decent clothes so I wasn't wearing garbage sacks, and I would mend things around his shop, and hunt the hides he sometimes needed.

Lord Eddard Stark's execution was that next day, I watches as people booed and shamed him, as he lied and admitted Joffrey was the true king. I watched as each of his daughter's faces fell in absolute awes and shame and terror and hatred all in one fellow swoop as he was beheaded. I heard the fake prince's stupid false preach about soft hearts. The most important fact I can remember of that day, was watching Sansa Stark's failed attempts and pleas to save her father as the executioner chopped off Eddard's head and a new knight held her back and a man of the nights watch covered Arya from the horror. Then my emotions vanished. It all sunk in. my house had been so nonexistent for so long, the Baratheon's had took over (whoever heard of a goddamn stag ruling? They were goddamn fodder!) And now the Lannister. Sure, the children were half Lannister and half Baratheon, but they looked so much like Lannisters they basically might as well be lions for all I shit about. This whole goddamn war, only a dragon and a wolf were in standing. Not this stupid king of the north boy, but that woman. That Sansa Stark, just like Lyanna, the cause of war. She was a ruling queen, a contender. Her and me, a wolf and a dragon. Forget the stags. Their all fucking fodder, whoever heard of a valiant stag?! Fuck that! A dire wolf mother. No, not just a dire wolf, although the males are scary and fierce. Have you ever gotten yourself between a mother and her child? I bet not. A male may be big and powerful most times, but get between a mother and the potential death of her offspring, the mother is way scarier than anything I've ever encountered. No, she may be a child still, but her eyes…. Just like that small dire wolf trophy. Those sapphire eyes screaming of hatred and loathing. She will be a contender in this two way race. A wolf and a dragon. That's the way it started right? That's the way it will end. The wolf and the dragon either wed or destroying the other. There may be a wheel, but a wheel only swings because of two equal forces, one on top and one on the bottom.

I'm getting sidetracked, the neighbor lady has buried her head in my shoulder, and I haven't put my arm around her. It's seen as loyalty to the bitchy prince, so I'm safe. I see Lord Starks head roll on the ground. He was so…. Northern. Loyal, honest, everything you hope to be when you're a young boy dreaming of knighthood. I gently put my hand around her outside shoulder, to comfort her since her tears are drenching my shoulder. I can't help but being sidetracked, as much as I liked Lord Stark, every time I see blood, I just…. Do you know house colors? Everyone does. Targaryen house colors are black and red. Red for blood. Red for fierce dominance. Red for unyielding unbroken shocking assertion. Red commands respect, for it's so vibrant. I may be Asher Waters by name now, but I will be damned if this world does not know by the time of my death that I am Daemon Asher Targaryen, the blood of a dragon. And like a dragon, I lay in wait, in my cave of solitude, as unworthy warriors seek me out, until I find an opportune time to strike, to set all the false rulers ablaze and use their skulls as my walkway to MY throne. To MY dragon scaled unbreakable throne. What do I truly believe that red streak means? Death. Death to all but dragons and those who dragons see fit to live. That my time to rise is near, that the dragon's blood in my veins has awoken, and is now boiling through my body, stirring every prehistoric Targaryen ambition.

We all clear the area as Eddard Stark's head is claimed and set on a pike. I go home and I wait. For the Night's watch and Arya Stark to pass through my town, for Sansa Stark to try to flee from her unfortunate predicament, to set my battle plans in motion. I may only be one man, but I am a clever man. I will let these armies kill and demolish each other, and when they are all tired and feeble, I will strike anew, I will claim the forgotten, I will give them a reason to fight for me. I will take one of the bitch's three dragons, she cannot control all three, and at least one will turn tail and flee from her stupid clasps. I will train it as my own. And we WILL set blaze to this land once more. Once more, black and red banners will fill the sky. Once more, chants of house Targaryen's words will echo through the air like a once forgotten wind chime finding a tornado. Once more, we shall rise and show these fools what dragon blood can do in human's veins. Once more, my lilac eyes shall not scream of fear and oddity, they shall silently scream pride, and royalty.

Now who shall I let destroy the other first? Such a simple little struggle over some melted swords. I know, since stags are fodder, let them die first.