Chapter 17: A Frozen Scream
Summary:
Jon and Dany hunt down the Ironborn ships heading for Bear Island, and capture a prisoner. Robb and Ned discuss the downfall of House Targaryen's old dragons.
In Lannisport, Euron Greyjoy challenges Tywin Lannister with terrible power.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Seventeen: A Frozen Scream
Jon looked out over the Sunset Sea and squinted against the fading light.
He and Dany had flown straight to the coast, well ahead of where they were expecting the approaching Ironborn fleet to be at the moment. It meant they had more ground to cover, but at least they'd be less likely to miss the ships.
Frostfyre was currently elsewhere, no doubt hunting after the journey to the ocean. She seemed to sense they were here to do some hunting of their own—there was an energy and aggression to her he'd not seen since they anticipated the Dothraki assault in Pentos.
Jon turned back to their small camp. Dany was sipping some fresh water they'd melted from the snow around them, sitting in the little tent they'd managed to pack. They'd managed to bring some actual gear with them for the trip rather than what little they could carry in the bags upon their backs.
It had taken some doing, but Ned insisted they go prepared. So it was that Jon had strung together a makeshift litter of sorts to carry their supplies, which he managed to secure upon Frostfyre's back with her spikes as anchors. She'd been curious, but barely even noticed it. The weight was nothing to her and if she felt their supplies strapped and pinned to her spikes, she didn't acknowledge it in any way.
He wished they had the time and knowledge to make an actual saddle for the dragon, but Frostfyre was huge and her body was not like a horse's. If that wasn't enough, there wasn't a soul alive who remembered how to make a saddle for a dragon. That secret may very well have died out with the last of the Dragon Riders before Jon came along.
He imagined it would certainly be possible to design a saddle for Frostfyre if they could find records of the old Targaryen saddles, but the most prominent issue was that his dragon was still growing. In fact, as far as he knew, dragons never truly stopped growing. Only Balerion the Black Dread had ever reached some peak of growth as a dragon, and that was after he was already more than two hundred years old. Frostfyre was still a teenager.
Dragons grew fast when they were young, he remembered from Aemon's lessons at Castle Black. It seemed to be largely dependent on how much food they had readily available, and apparently was also influenced by magic.
He wasn't sure on the details of the latter. Frostfyre had grown rather slowly in her early life according to his uncle Benjen, and had only been a bit bigger than the great cave bears beyond the Wall by the time she was seven years of age. Aemon had theorized that the terrible cold was hampering her, and Jon also wondered if the difficulty of finding food in that frozen world had stunted how quickly she grew.
And yet by the time Frostfyre and Jon were both twelve, she had gone through such a growth spurt that she dwarfed even the great mammoths said to roam in the deep North. She'd been more than seventy feet long when Jon first met her, and her growth had only escalated in the years that followed.
So something had changed in the five years before Jon met Frostfyre. Was it the magic at the Wall finally influencing her? Some other source of magic? Had she somehow found a glut of food that let her grow so large? A combination thereof?
So many questions. Frostfyre had only rarely gone hunting with Jon when they were together beyond the Wall. She seemed reluctant to take him too far away from the cave, where Benjen and Alliser would camp while he was learning to fly with her. From what he'd seen, she would hunt deer, elk, and moose easily enough. Even bears were not safe from her hunger when she could find them.
But there were plenty of those to find in the immediate territory near her lair, and Benjen had said she used to fly much, much farther away. Perhaps there was more food to be had elsewhere beyond the Wall?
The snapping of fingers broke Jon out of his thoughts.
Dany was smiling up at him, amused. "You were lost in your own world."
"Sorry. Did you need something?"
"Just wanted to see what was on your mind," she confessed.
Jon sat down next to the fire, poking at the logs with a stick. "I was just thinking about what Frostfyre must have been eating to get so big beyond the Wall. There's game out there she can hunt easily enough, but sometimes I can't believe how large she got before we finally left Westeros."
Dany hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe we should fly her up there one day and see where she takes us. It could be interesting."
"It's also freezing like you wouldn't believe," Jon laughed. "We'd need more layers than this, that's for sure."
"I'll take your word for it," Dany looked out over the Sunset Sea. "How are we going to find them? There's a lot of water to cover."
"Bear Island is a good distance northeast of us," Jon gestured further up the coast. "They won't be anywhere near it just yet. We'll sweep down the coast in loops, I think. Each morning, well circle north and then curve around south, just in case they manage to sneak by us in the dark."
"And when we find them?"
"If we spot any ships, we'll fly down to make sure it's actually the Ironborn and not a merchant or something," Jon shrugged. "If they're Ironborn, we strike. They'll have golden krakens on their sails. Should be easy enough to recognize."
"Hmm. I don't suppose there's any chance we can capture the ships?"
"No," he shook his head. "There's only two of us and I would never trust them not to stab us in the back at the first opportunity. We'll have to sink them."
"You won't hear me arguing about it," she murmured. "These Ironborn sound like the Dothraki, in a way."
"They're pirates. They raid and rape and pillage like the Dothraki," Jon admitted, scowling. "Or at least, those who follow the Old Way do. But we can't exactly ask each and every one of them what they believe, or trust them to be honest. The Dothraki have a perverse code of honor, but they don't stab each other in the back. They don't get any prestige in their khalasars for doing such things—it's dishonorable to them. These pirates have no such code."
Dany's eyes narrowed. "So we burn them into the sea."
"Aye."
"Well then," she reached for some of the dried strips of meat they'd packed for the trip. "Let's eat and get some rest. We'll need it."
The wind blew by and she briefly shivered. Jon cracked a smile. "Cold?"
"Yes," Dany smirked at him. "Your Queen needs you to keep her warm, Your Grace."
"Then my Queen shall be warm," Jon chuckled, shifting over to sit beside her. They huddled together for warmth, wrapping a blanket around their bodies as they ate before it was time to rest.
At first light, they were in the air again. Frostfyre let out a bellow once they were ready to go. Jon and Dany had packed up their supplies, strapped them back to the spikes upon her back, and taken off.
The great white dragon soared over the ocean. Though the coast remained in sight, they were a fair distance out, and able to scour a large chunk of territory as a result. They flew in loops back and forth, closer to the shore and then farther out to make sure they didn't miss any ships anchored by the calmer waters of the shallows.
The first day yielded nothing.
On the second day, they found their quarry.
It was just after midday that Dany patted Jon's arm urgently. He turned towards her and she pointed down to the east, nearer to the shore perhaps two miles out. Jon followed her prompting for a few seconds before he spotted a collection of sails, which almost blended into the dark waters beneath them save the small spots of bright color adorning them.
He met Dany's eyes and nodded, then he turned Frostfyre towards the ships. Dany's arms wrapped around his waist more tightly as the dragon began to descend, flying closer. They came upon the ships in no time, approaching from above so as to disguise themselves with the sun behind them.
When they were so close Jon felt like they wouldn't be able to hide much longer, he pushed Frostfyre on to increase the pace. She let out a roar as they descended, wings pumping to pick up speed.
He could hear vague shouts as they flew directly over the ships, and he spotted men moving frantically on the decks. But Jon's eyes were only for the golden krakens adorning the black sails.
They'd found their prey.
Frostfyre pulled up as they wheeled around, intending to come at the ships from behind. Jon could see the Ironborn mustering their men, but he had no intention of giving them a chance to fight back.
Not that they had a chance to begin with.
Frostfyre came down close to the waves, her wingbeats sending up sprays of salt water as she screamed a challenge. Jon felt heat racing through his blood and as his dragon quieted, he let out a battle cry.
"Dracarys!"
The dragon made that low purr in her throat, and then white dragonfire bathed the ocean. Steam immediately filled the air as she vaporized the sea with her heat, and then they strafed clean over two of the Ironborn ships.
The first vessel took the blast directly and quite literally exploded. Men screamed as the fire consumed them, leaping overboard in fruitless attempts to save themselves. Most of the pirates caught in the core of Frostfyre's infernal breath were turned to ash instantly.
The second ship had started to turn by the time Frostfyre came around for her attack, but its starboard flank was blown wide open by the inferno. The vessel was already going over by the time the dragon began to climb again.
Jon wheeled Frostfyre in a loop to the west, intending to broadside the other ships. None of them were in any sort of line, but he wanted to keep them on their toes—never giving them a certain pattern to follow as his dragon destroyed their ships.
Once more she came down, blasting another ship into smithereens. Jon heard arrows whistling by and grimaced in annoyance. He spotted two of the missiles bounce harmlessly off of Frostfyre's face as she finished her second run, and watched as her head snapped towards the offending vessel. Her violet eyes blazed angrily.
The dragon twisted so sharply that Jon and Dany were almost thrown off of her back. His heart lurched as Frostfyre shrieked in rage, but a grin found its way onto his face.
Oh, they were in trouble now.
Frostfyre dove for the ship whose archers had been unlucky enough to actually get her attention. Instead of blowing it wide open with her fire, she flared her wings out upon approaching the ship and her clawed feet came forward like a gigantic bird of prey.
The Ironborn screamed as Frostfyre's talons dug into the wooden hull of their ship, and with sheer power even Jon hadn't realized she possessed, the white dragon heaved the ship near-clear of the water and dragged it into another vessel, upon which she dropped it.
The target of her wrath was flipped upside-down and crashed onto its sister vessel, splitting both of them in half with the impact and setting them to sink in an instant. Frostfyre roared with vengeful satisfaction.
More arrows were starting to fly, and though Frostfyre ignored these, Jon was getting tired of them. He didn't want to prolong this until one of the archers got a lucky shot and hit him or Daenerys.
"Dracarys!" Jon shouted again. Frostfyre came at the Ironborn fleet from above this time, her armored belly utterly impossible to pierce with the Ironborn arrows. She bathed the sea in flames, consuming vessel after vessel until only one remained.
Jon wanted something from this particular ship before they destroyed it. He patted Frostfyre's neck and shouted another command he hadn't tried since they learned to fly together north of the Wall.
"Ūndegon!"
Catch!
It was a skill that had needed some practice to perfect—devastating a target with dragonfire was easy. Their first attempts at this had been abysmal failures, for his dragon hadn't quite understood exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Fortunately for them, Frostfyre was a quick learner.
Benjen had helped him to catch a rabbit once and Frostfyre had watched as Jon let it go and caught it again, keeping it unharmed each time and repeating the command. It only took two tries before she got that intelligent gleam in her eyes that told him she knew what he was going for.
She would catch the target in her claws, but would not immediately kill it.
Teaching her to restrain her terrible power had taken some doing. Several unfortunate undulates had not been lucky enough to avoid being skewered by her claws the first few times, or had been crushed when she landed.
The dragon snarled and looped around, eyeing the last ship like a shark to search for a suitable target. Jon let her take the lead—this was her hunt.
It didn't even take a minute before she shrieked and lunged towards the ship, her claws once more splaying out to snatch at one of the Ironborn. Jon heard a muffled scream, which didn't fade as they pulled away from the ship, and grinned.
Now they had a prisoner.
"Dracarys, Frostfyre!"
His dragon let loose one final bellow as she curved around, that deadly purr an ominous warning in her throat before white flames consumed the last ship. The vessel was blasted apart, its sail burning to nothing atop the waves. Jon could see a few men clinging to debris, but they were no longer a threat. If they didn't drown, they'd burn to death or die some other way.
Satisfied that the threat was dealt with, he wheeled Frostfyre around back to shore.
As soon as they landed upon one of the cliffs, Jon dismounted with Dany and unsheathed his sword. She pulled free her own blade—shorter than his, but better suited for her slighter frame.
Frostfyre had to land carefully when she had live prey in her claws. It essentially involved dropping them just above the ground, then landing quickly and lightly pressing her foot upon them before they could flee. "Lightly" being the key word. If she wasn't delicate enough, she could snap bones like twigs and perforate organs.
It was not an easy task for so large a creature.
Jon heard a quiet groan of pain as his dragon curved her head to inspect the body pinned beneath her massive foot claws. He approached slowly and knelt beside the Ironborn, who only had one arm free. The man was ashen-faced, his mouth spotted with bile, but he wasn't bleeding as far as Jon could tell. He was sick from the capture and flight, but not dying.
With a word, Frostfyre stepped off of the Ironborn fully. He'd be badly bruised and Jon would be surprised if he didn't have a broken rib or two, but he was alive.
Unwilling to leave their prisoner to his own devices, Jon slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's temple, rendering him unconscious.
"Dany, can you get some of the ropes from the bag?"
"Yes," she answered. He heard her murmur to Frostfyre as Jon flipped the man onto his back and began to pat him down, searching for weapons and anything of value. Three daggers, a short sword, (which he promptly threw over the cliff) some coin, and little else. As far as he could tell, this Ironborn was a simple soldier.
Still, he might be useful. His appearance would hopefully be enough to reassure the Lady of Bear Island that her home was no longer in danger.
But for now, Jon didn't want him to get any ideas about escaping whenever he woke up with what was likely to be a terrifying memory and a rather delightful concussion.
Robb gently urged his horse to move a bit faster, so as to keep up with his father near the head of their army.
They'd left Winterfell some days ago. Progress was steady, from what Robb could tell. He'd never marched with an army, but his father seemed to be satisfied with how much ground they'd covered thus far.
Unfortunately, he had not anticipated the dwarf currently riding a pony between them.
"I still cannot quite believe a dragon came to Winterfell and nobody let me see it," Tyrion Lannister grumbled, and not for the first time. "The only thing I wanted for my name day as a child—there and gone before I could even lay eyes upon it!"
Robb snorted. Tyrion had been dragged along with them, just in case the Lannisters got any funny ideas in their heads and they needed a hostage to barter with. They were confident he wouldn't try to flee, however—in addition to wanting to see the dragon for himself, Ned had also informed the dwarf that his brother was heading to White Harbor under Jon's orders. That particular detail, the promise of seeing Jaime again, had been what swayed him to behave.
With Ned all but confirming that Petyr Baelish was not trustworthy in the slightest, Catelyn had dropped her suspicions of the stunted Lannister. Robb doubted his father actually trusted the dwarf, and neither did he for that matter, but Tyrion wasn't the most terrible company. He was smart and witty now that he had some rather great things to look forward to.
He also had a sense of humor that would make Catelyn's ears bleed, but Robb found him to be rather amusing all things considered.
He still needed to find out how that joke about the jackass and honeycomb in a brothel ended.
"You'll see the dragon soon enough," Ned assured him. "Jaehaerys will be rejoining us within the week."
"Jaehaerys," Tyrion muttered, shaking his head. "As if the dragon wasn't enough to leave my poor illusions of reality in tatters. You are infinitely more devious than I gave you credit for, Lord Stark."
Ned grimaced. "I'm not sure if devious is the right word for what happened."
"You concealed a Targaryen male in your own keep as your bastard son, paraded him right under the noses of every noble who ever visited your domain, and hid a dragon beyond the Wall. And you kept it a secret until the time was necessary for you to bring the truth to light. Devious is, in fact, the word for it, and you are decidedly better at deception than I would ever have guessed."
"Then consider it a rarity. I have no love for cloaks and daggers in the shadows."
"Thank goodness for that, because if you were so inclined, you could probably rule the world with such deviousness," Tyrion remarked.
Robb smirked. "You say you are quite fond of dragons, Lord Tyrion. What can you tell me about them?"
"Did your…cousin not regale you with tales of the beasts? He does have one, you know."
"He's my brother in all the ways that matter," Robb corrected. "And unfortunately, he didn't get to say much. His visit was brief—the bloody Ironborn sailing for Bear Island forced him to leave earlier than I'd have liked."
"Fair enough. Anything in particular you want to know? Dragons are a rather vast subject."
"How big do they get?"
"Depends on the circumstances," Tyrion admitted. "By most accounts, dragons don't truly stop growing until they die. The biggest dragon known to Westeros was Balerion the Black Dread. It was said that he could swallow a mammoth from the cold wastes of Ibben."
Ned frowned. "I've seen the dragon skulls in the Red Keep. Balerion's is gigantic, but none of the others ever approached that size. I suppose they all died young, then."
"That's part of the reason," said the dwarf. "But there's more to it than that. Dragons do not do well in captivity. The three dragons Aegon used to conquer Westeros ranged for hundreds of miles, hunting and flying free as they were meant to. Then the Targaryens started chaining them up in the pens of the Dragonpit. They had plenty to eat, sure, but they didn't fly nearly as much."
"You can't exactly have them fly across the countryside eating all the livestock in Westeros," Ned pointed out. "The smallfolk wouldn't appreciate that."
"Perhaps not, but it is a fact that the dragons started to grow more slowly after they were chained up," Tyrion reminded him. "By the time Balerion the Black Dread died, he was so large and weak that he could only fly thrice around King's Landing before he had to land. He wouldn't even have made it to Dragonstone."
"There must be more to it than that, though," Robb protested. "The dire wolves live in the kennels at Winterell, and they're still growing bigger."
"Your wolves are considerably smaller, have a maximum size they can reach, and get plenty of freedom to wander around," Tyrion nodded towards Grey Wind, Ghost, and Blackfreeze, the three of whom were stalking at the head of the army beside their masters. "But you're right, it wasn't just that. Oh, chaining them up stunted their growth, but many Targaryen dragons still grew to great sizes, even if none of them ever reached the same prestige as Balerion."
"Then why?"
"Think on this," the dwarf began. "The dragons of Old Valyria lived and thrived for thousands of years, but over a mere century and a half, they all died out here in Westeros. Hard to believe, isn't it? The greatest of all creatures simply dying out over the course of a few generations? What could cause such a thing? They had all they needed, and yet they all died out, dragons young and old."
Robb frowned deeply, racking his mind for an answer, but the mystery was just that. There didn't seem to be any obvious explanation for the doom of the dragons.
"What did all the dragons of the Targaryen dynasty have in common once Aegon completed his conquest of Westeros?" Tyrion prompted.
"…King's Landing," Ned answered. "They were all staying at the Dragonpit."
"Correct! They were all living in the same place, were fed the same food, and were cared for by the same handlers whenever a Targaryen wasn't riding one of them. And yet those who didn't die in battle with one another seemed to just slowly fade away. Rather unusual ending for such fiery creatures, isn't it?"
It clicked.
Robb's gaze twisted sharply to the dwarf. "Foul play?"
"I suspect so," Tyrion shrugged. "I don't have any proof, but it's the only logical answer that makes any sort of sense. There were many people who were displeased with the Targaryens suddenly amassing all of Westeros under their rule. But the Targaryens had one thing all those other Lords and Ladies simply didn't: dragons. Get rid of the dragons and they're just people."
"How do you go about killing dragons without anyone noticing?"
"Well, few weapons can so much as scratch beasts the like of Vhagar or Miraxes. Unless you get a lucky shot through one of their few vulnerable spots, like the eye. The smaller ones could have been brought down with a scorpion bolt before their armor got too thick, and the babies of course—well, babies of most species can be killed by just about anyone with a pointy stick."
"Their food," Robb suddenly realized. "Poison?"
"Probably. Likely in steady doses to gradually weaken them. Nothing so extreme as to be noticed immediately. Perhaps it would have eventually been noticed if the Dance of Dragons never took place. But by then, dragons were dying left and right, usually to each other. Within a few generations, the last dragons were no larger than cats. The last one that hatched was deformed and died shortly after its birth. Perhaps the poison that weakened its mother affected the hatchling within. Perhaps that is why the other eggs never hatched."
Robb shook his head slowly. "That's mad."
"A terrible and quiet ending to the most grand of all creatures," Tyrion agreed, inclining his head.
"Not an ending," Ned corrected, and his gleaming eyes were looking to their west. "Not yet."
"No. Perhaps an interlude would be—"
Tyrion was cut off by a thunderous bellow overhead, which resulting in no small number of panicked horses and men. The dwarf himself was bucked off of his pony, landing on the ground with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. Ned snatched the reigns before the animal could flee.
From the west, Frostfyre flew over them, letting out another shriek to announce herself to the army of the North. The vast, white dragon made deep thunderclaps of air as she flapped her wings, wheeling around towards the back of the army and then flying towards the front.
Tyrion was staring up at the aerial titan with huge eyes, stunned into speechlessness. Robb dismounted his horse with his father, expecting their march to pause for a short while at least. He could already see some of Lady Mormont's banners approaching as she rode up to the front of the company.
Robb helped the dwarf stand as Frostfyre descended, flapping her wings heavily before she landed with a loud thud. The dragon lifted her head and bellowed, which seemed to be her version of greeting them. It made Robb's ears ring, and he wondered how it was that Jon and Dany were not yet deaf.
Frostfyre was not a quiet creature.
He grinned as he spotted his brother dismount, but frowned as Jon walked around to Frostfyre's leg and began to untie something attached to the limb. The dragon twisted her head, growling lowly as Dany began to remove their gear from her back.
"Seven hells," Tyrion breathed. "I knew you said it was big, but…"
"Believe me, I thought the same thing when I first saw her," Robb admitted. "Best we stay back until they sort things out."
Dany was quick to take their gear from Frostfyre's back—it wasn't like they had much with them in the first place—set it on the ground, and then approached Jon at the dragon's leg. Robb wondered when a Queen had last been so hands-on in Westeros. She certainly didn't shy away from physical work as he knew Cersei did.
Gods forbid if the Queen regent of the Seven Kingdoms had to so much as lift her own pitcher of wine.
Robb's humor faded as he watched Jon and Dany drag a man away from Frostfyre by his arms. Their prisoner appeared to be unconscious, but his face was a rather sickly shade of green.
They dumped him at Ned's feet and dusted their hands off. Jon let out a sigh. "Hello."
"You've been busy," Robb's father remarked as Lady Mormont arrived with her small company of soldiers. She dismounted quickly and frowned at the man, who Robb had quickly realized was an Ironborn soldier.
Frostfyre seemed content to take a moment to groom herself, if the nibbles at her scaled wings said anything. Robb hoped she wasn't going to get too comfortable there.
If the dragon decided not to move, the army would go around her. They wouldn't play that sort of game.
Arguing with dragons generally didn't end well, he was sure.
Dany brushed her windswept hair back behind her head and looked up at Lady Mormont. "We sunk the Ironborn ships. Eight boats set aflame and destroyed. Bear Island isn't under threat anymore."
Lady Mormont seemed more than a little relieved from what Robb could tell, but she just nodded. "Thank you. And who is this?"
"I had Frostfyre snatch him off the last ship we sunk," Jon explained. "He didn't take to flying very well, and I doubt he's anyone especially important, but he might know something about where the Iron Fleet is moving right now."
The man let out a pitiful moan, to which Robb's brother winced. "He's also probably got a few broken bones. Frostfyre grabbed him with her claws. People are small and she's…well…"
They all looked back at the positively gigantic dragon, who steadfastly ignored their stares and kept up on her grooming. No further explanation was necessary.
"You taught her to take prisoners?" Ned asked incredulously.
"I taught her to catch things without killing them. Mostly," Jon shrugged a little helplessly. "It took some practice. She crushed most of the deer she caught the first few times. Landing isn't easy when she's got something caught in her claws."
"How in the seven hells did you teach a dragon to catch something alive?" Tyrion sounded bewildered. Jon raised an eyebrow at the sight of the dwarf, but he answered the question nonetheless.
"With a rabbit."
Dany smirked at the flabbergasted expressions on their faces and looked down at their captive. "Well, we have one Ironborn prisoner with us now. What are the odds he'll talk?"
"After what you put him through, I don't think it'll take much to make him speak," Ned decided. He glanced from Jon to Dany, and smiled proudly. "Well done, both of you. Let's get you some horses—unless you wish to keep riding the dragon?"
"She needs to go hunt and rest for a bit," Jon said, shaking his head. "We'll take the horses. I'll send her off. We don't need to stop yet, do we?"
"No," his uncle shook his head and then looked at Lady Mormont. "Would you like to guard our…guest, or should I?"
The Lady of Bear Island glared at the prisoner with smug satisfaction. "I'd be quite happy to keep an eye on him."
"We stripped him of his weapons," Dany told her. "Those we could find, anyways—a short sword and a few knives. You might search him again to be sure he's not hiding anything else."
She nodded and gestured with her men to seize their prisoner. The Ironborn victim managed to get only a brief stab of sympathy from Robb.
The man truly did look and sound absolutely miserable. Frostfyre was not gentle with prisoners, no sir.
Jon turned back to said dragon and approached her, whistling to get her attention. Robb glanced at Tyrion as the dwarf stared at the vast, white creature with reverence. He couldn't help but share that sense of awe as Frostfyre lowered her skull to meet Jon.
His brother was murmuring something to the dragon, who let out a quiet trill that didn't suit a creature of such immense stature.
"Gods, I saw the skulls in the Red Keep, and I collected pictures and sculptures of them when I was a boy," Tyrion told him absently, still captivated by Frostfyre's majesty. "Now I see it with my own eyes and its the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Even more beautiful than that woman you told me about with the great big tits from Dorne?" Robb asked teasingly.
"Different sort of beauty. Don't ask me to compare a dragon to a nice pair of tits. That's not fair."
Robb barked out a laugh at the answer.
By the time the army came to a stop at the end of the day, Jon was exhausted.
They'd flown hard with Frostfyre to rejoin the army so soon after destroying the Ironborn fleet, and once he'd sent the dragon off to hunt and rest, they'd ridden on horseback for several hours before stopping to make camp at last. The good news was that the cooks were making actual food and they had a much nicer tent than the one they'd strapped to Frostfyre for their hunt.
Jon was lying on his back in the furs they'd set up, more comfortable than they'd been since their stop in Winterfell. His belly was full, he was warm, and he was tired. He'd sleep hard tonight and would be ready to march with his family first thing in the morning.
Dany joined him not long afterwards. She'd been busy with something when he came back to their tent just a few minutes ago. Jon opened his eyes as she made her way over to him and curled up beside her husband. She let out a sigh as he wrapped an arm around her, tossing a leg across his waist.
Jon kissed her sleepily, humming from the soft, heady warmth. When they parted, she tucked her face into his neck and took a long, deep breath.
"How long until we get to Torrhen Square?" Dany asked.
"A little less than a moon," he mumbled. "The roads are a bit nicer, so we might get there sooner than later."
"Mm," she hummed. She was quiet for a moment. "I started my moon's blood today."
Jon looked down at her. Dany sighed. "I know a march to war isn't a good time, but I was still hoping just a little…"
"Me too," he admitted quietly.
"We should be more careful," she told him. "At least until the war is done. I know we talked about it at Winterfell, and I still feel the same way I did then, but it's…not worth the risk right now, I think."
"I agree. Gods, I'd fly you straight back to Winterfell."
Her lips rose into a little smile. "I know you would. So until the fighting is done, you are not to finish inside of me anymore."
"What if I forget?"
She smacked his chest lightly, drawing a laugh from them both. Jon squeezed her closer and planted a deeper, more loving kiss upon her lips. "We'll get there. I promise you that. When the fighting is over, I want to take you back to Winterfell and marry you again underneath the Heart Tree. We'll feast and celebrate with my family and the people of the North, and then I will make love to you every night afterwards so your belly rounds with our babe."
"Promises, promises," she murmured in a sing-song voice. "Let us sleep now, Jon. I am weary, and my moon's blood is not making me more comfortable."
"Is there anything I can do?"
She was quiet for a moment and then reached around for his hand, pulling it down to her abdomen. With her guidance, he slowly, gently worked at the spots that were causing her the most discomfort.
"Just like that," she sighed.
Jon did not stop until she had slipped off to sleep, and only then did he let himself go to join her in their dreamless slumber.
Tywin Lannister generally did not enjoy surprises. He was not a man of great humor, nor did he especially care to be. Gifts were not a surprise most often, and when they were, he found them to usually be unnecessary.
Jaime disappearing was not a good surprise. His second son's dwarfism was also a surprise he did not take to.
To say nothing of the Dragon King across the Narrow Sea.
There were a few notable exceptions of course. He did rather enjoy when a plan worked out better than he'd expected. Usually the only surprises the Old Lion actually liked were surprises that involved his enemies dying faster than anticipated.
Today was not a good surprise.
Amory Lorch, summoned from Harrenhal, strode into Tywin's latest meeting with his other military commanders, standing at attention at the foot of the table. The Lord of Casterly Rock raised an eyebrow. He had certainly not called the Knight here for this briefing.
"What do you want?"
"The Silence just made port."
Tywin's other eyebrow joins the first. "You are certain?"
Lorch nods. "The Crow's Eye himself is demanding you speak with him on the docks."
Perhaps the mad pirate was even more mad than Tywin had anticipated. "He is demanding for me to behead him. Very well—let us greet our new prisoner."
He led his men out of the room and to the stables, where they would ride their horses to the dock for this unexpected meeting. Tywin barked orders, setting the forces of Casterly Rock and Lannisport into motion.
Euron Greyjoy was a madman, but Tywin still didn't like this. The Crow's Eye was too cunning to just walk into the enemy's hands. Whatever he was doing here, he had a plan to get out after making such a brazen move.
Tywin's eyes scanned the horizon as they descended from the Rock to the docks of Lannisport. The sky was covered by clouds, but the sea was empty. There was no entourage of Greyjoy vessels from the Iron Fleet to back Euron up.
He frowned deeply with suspicion. For what purpose was the madman here?
It took them some time to reach the docks of Lannisport, but when Tywin arrived he was satisfied to see that it was sufficiently locked down. Several ships were surrounding the Silence, ensuring it was blocked from leaving whenever Euron wished.
He dismounted his horse and stalked towards the eerie vessel with Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch at his back, as well as two dozen of his bannermen in lines behind the pair of Knights. Tywin scowled at the sight of the ship in-question.
The Silence was a galley with a single mast, black sails, and dark red hull—supposedly painted as such to disguise the blood that was so often spilled upon it. On the prow was a mouthless maiden of black iron with long legs, a slender waist, high breasts, and mother-of-pearl eyes.
True to its name, those on board the ship were silent. Tywin had heard the stories—Euron's crew were all mutes from throughout the world, whose tongues Euron himself had removed.
Still aboard his ship, watching him march down the docks, was the Crow's-Eye. A tall, pale man with black hair and a dark beard, and a patch over his left eye. What was visible was a glittering blue eye, nearly glowing in the shade of the clouds above.
Tywin studied him briefly, then made a show of regarding the Silence and all of his forces surrounding the lonely vessel. Only then did he look up at Euron Greyjoy, who said nothing all the while.
"Well?"
Euron tilted his head slightly. "Well, what?"
"You are in my port," Tywin said simply, as if speaking to a child. "Surrounded by my ships and men with no way out. Unless your Iron Fleet can make itself invisible, I saw none of your ships waiting nearby to support you."
"So I am."
"Hm. Well, if that's all, I have plans to invade the North that must be seen to. Once Ser Gregor puts your head on a spike outside my castle walls, I'll throw the rest of your body after your ship when it is sunk."
Euron's mouth curved upwards into a smile. "You aren't any fun, Old Lion."
"If I wanted fun, I could let my men carve you into little pieces and watch them be thrown to the seabirds," Tywin replied, his voice dry.
"Now there's something I haven't tried before," the Crow's-Eye said thoughtfully. "I should try that when I get my hands on Eddard Stark. See how long it takes for the birds to eat a wolf."
Tywin snorted. "You seem to be under the delusion that you are leaving my lands alive."
"I'm in the waters. Are the waters yours?"
"Now that you mention it, they are, in fact, mine. And I am tired of seeing your ship in one piece at my docks."
Tywin lifted a hand, ready to order his men to storm the Silence and put the Crow's-Eye out of his misery.
"Are you sure these waters are yours? These lands?" Euron prompted. "They look like mine. I could have sworn I own that lovely castle up on the hill."
"I'm afraid it doesn't suit a man of your tastes."
"We shall see," Euron shrugged. "I have come with a proposal."
About damn time. "And only now do you speak of it."
"Support me as King of the Seven Kingdoms," purred the Crow's Eye. "And I shall let you live."
Tywin didn't have time for this nonsense. He turned away from Euron. "Kill them all."
"Pity."
Tywin glanced back as Euron waved a hand, and for a moment the man wondered if he had an archer or crossbowman hiding somewhere on the ship to take him out, but nothing like that happened.
A sound filled the air of Lannisport like nothing he'd ever heard before—it was the screaming of a thousand souls, and as Tywin heard it, he felt as though his bones were aflame and searing his flesh from within. His forces all cringed when they heard the noise, and he scowled, fighting the very unwelcome sensation in his bones.
The screaming rang out long and loud, and then faded to silence.
Euron lifted a hand up towards the sky.
What answered was something like a blizzard given a voice, a shriek like a howling stormgale that brought to mind the coldest winter storms the world had seen. Tywin's gaze snapped upwards and the blood in his veins froze cold as ice.
A beast dove from the gray clouds above Lannisport, unlike anything he'd ever seen in his long life. It was bright blue—the color of frozen crystals, and seemed to be carved from ice itself. Frozen wings spread out wide, casting a vast shadow. They looked like frozen feathers, yet they were sharp as blades. A pair of powerful legs were tucked in beneath its body with razor-like claws of ice clenching at the ready. The tail was long and ended in a thick structure not unlike the flail of a chain.
The head was perched on the end of a short neck and adorned with a crown of icy horns, blunt and as frozen as the rest of its body. The only thing giving it away as a living thing were the shining blue eyes, glowing unnaturally bright in the low light.
Then the ice dragon parted its jaws and its freezing scream filled the air. A cyclone of silver-blue wind burst free of its mouth and the temperature seemed to drop instantly.
Euron turned away from Lannisport towards the ships in the bay and swept his hand in their direction. The dragon shrieked and dove down on great blue wings. Tywin could only watch as its frozen breath turned the sea and ships to ice, leaving a great swatch of frost in its wake. Any of his men caught in the dragon's cold fire met their doom immediately, trapped in ice and dead in seconds. There were no screams as they were consumed, just an eerie silence.
The dragon then landed on one of the ships it had frozen, spitting more of that cyclonic, freezing breath all around it until it was standing on a solid platform of ice. When it stood on both legs, tucking its wings to its side like a gigantic bird, it towered over those beneath it from nearly thirty feet up. Its mace-like tail swung casually to the side and decimated the prow of another ship.
Euron looked back to Tywin, his arm once more rising. The dragon fixed its gaze on the Crow's-Eye, who held its power at his command.
What he directed it towards, the beast would destroy.
"Now then," Euron said rather more cheerfully than Tywin was entirely happy about. "Shall we discuss terms? Or shall I leave you, Casterly Rock, Lannisport, and all your men behind as frozen corpses?"
The Old Lion had not taken his eyes from the ice dragon. This was not the same beast Varys had reported dwelled across the Narrow Sea. The Dragon King's mount was a fire dragon. Those creatures he knew about—there were records of them dating hundreds of years back.
Tywin had never heard of an ice dragon. What gods-forsaken place had he traveled to in order to acquire such a beast? Clearly he could control it with that wretched Dragonbinder Horn—that must have been the screaming sound he'd heard before the ice dragon had appeared. So it wasn't just some mummer's toy used to inspire fear.
What little he'd seen of the beast was enough for him to believe it was too powerful for him to fight. The creature was a hundred feet long, easy, and he had little doubt that just a few passes over his home would see Lannisport and Casterly Rock buried in ice.
He could try to kill Euron before the dragon struck, but the Crow's-Eye would undoubtedly order the dragon to kill Tywin himself before the deed was done. He could not die yet. His family's legacy was in jeopardy.
He could only win this if he played the long game with cloaks and daggers. At least he was familiar with that.
Mind racing and fighting a scowl, Tywin dipped his head. "Very well. Let us discuss terms."
Notes:
If you're looking for a reference to the ice dragon, just check out the image on the wiki. That's what I based this particular creature off of.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!