Aaaaah, the throat of the world.
*CLANG*
The highest peak of Skyrim. Where the Greybeards had, for ceaseless years, deepened their knowledge of the voice.
*CLANG*
Where the white snow encountered the black rock on the seven hund-thousands steps to reach.
*CLANG*
Where the Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, had been taught under Jor and Dovah alike.
*CLANG*
"DIR UNSLAEED TUR, DOVAHKIIN! Continue with the Hammering and I will destroy that forge you put on my peak!"
*CLANG*
Also, where the Dragonborn had taken refuge, much to the annoyance of the eldest dragon, who rather liked this place, even after becoming the "Tyrant of the voice".
*CLANG*
Now, if only this one Dov did follow this tyranny, it would make this situation much more bearable!
"Stop trying, Paarthurnax. You opposed his making many times before, and many times you failed. It's an exercise of madness, just do like me and fight him after he finishes."
*CLANG*
"WEEE!"
A joyous roar can be heard at that moment, while an undead dragon with wings that reflected patches of silver and sick and lucent looking scales one over the other, Durnehviir, flies overheard, making many unnecessary manoeuvres.
And noises.
*CLANG*
"Thuri, how long to finish that sword!? I want to fight!"
That is the reason for which the red Dovah was being so calm about this noise.
Completely self-serving.
"Ya wanna fight an half assed scythe?! Cuz this will be half assed if ya dun't wait, ya lizard!"
There is a sudden roar from the red dragon, whose Shuul lasted for several seconds, the snow around the Dovah melting due to the heat and anger, while the snow had been cleared in front of Dovahkiin at each words he spoke.
*CLANG*
Dovahkiin didn't care and continued hammering on the anvil of the forge he had constructed on top of the mountain.
"Ya dun't call me lizard, you punk! I will defeat you this time!"
*CLANG*
Parthuurnax, the wise.
*CLANG*
"Yer a lizard! A lazy one!"
*CLANG*
Parthuurnax, the good.
*CLANG*
"Uh!? Ok, we fight now!"
The hammer was risen.
Parthuurnax, the teacher.
*CLANG*
"WEEEEEE!"
Parthuurnax, the one who could not bear this anymore!
"DOVAHKIIN!"
A lightning came.
*BOOM*
A thunder followed.
And smell of chicken assaulted the Dovah's nose.
The Dovahkiin, who was still keeping the hammer up, his black hair and beard burnt, sooted all over himself, slowly looked up.
And muttered calmly:
"What in the fucking name of the nine-"
Another lightning.
*BOOM*
And the smell of chicken was gone.
The two Dovah stared at where the human Dovah had been a few moments ago.
"Damn. I will have to wait 'till he calls me to fight again, now. I was sure I could best him, this time. I am already dreadful of how much I will have to fly."
Parthuurnax sighed at that, then at the acrobatic Dovah.
It will be a long hour to make sure their endead sibling understood that the Dovahkin was alive somewhere else, and that he had been taken by some Divine.
Now, to wait 'till Dovahkiin summoned either Durnehviir or Odahviing, so those two would follow him and finally give back the Tyrant's peak.
Ah, a bit of silence at last.
…
Parthuurnax prepared the names of the older of the Dovah, just in case they would need some help in knowledge.
Somewhere, Somewhen, Somehow; During the most traumatic part for the Dovahkiin;
I, Lucius of Cyrodil, had many, not flattering, things to say about childbirth.
It was long, hence why I had wanted to stay very far away from Aela when she got hers and Vilkas's spawn, but was forced regardless of my own feelings, for hours.
It was bloody, which I found out when they made me clean that mess she did, much to my annoyance and unwillingness, made known to all, as was befitted with me being the Harbinger.
They didn't give a flying fuck about it, which was also fit with being Harbinger.
They also left a strong odour, which was smelt by werewolves, vampires and dragons for weeks, much to mine, Serana, every high-ranking companion, and dragon displeasure.
The screaming was even worse, the inability of doing anything more than casting "heal other" (truly, the Nords were quite imaginative with their names) for all the time, along with a liberal application of Kaan-Drem-Ov.
Worse still if you were afar.
It may as well be one of the reasons for my own retirement on High Rhor- Hrtro-fucking Nords, the throat of the world.
Using a normaler language wouldn't be so bad, don't you know?!
All of this to say that I, Lucius of Cyrodil, the ultimate dragon (and elf) hunter didn't like overly much pregnancies.
So being the child in that kind of situation sat even worse for me, for very, extremely, glaring obvious reasons.
There was blood on me.
There wasn't just blood on me.
There were screams.
There wasn't magick being used, which meant I should be somewhere in bumfuck nowhere.
Wait. What?
But then I heard complete gibberish, in between the muffled screaming, the feeling of his head being under the sea, and the very real blood in his hears, a feminine voice, maybe between the thirty winters:
"Continuez à pousser, Votre Grace! La tête est sortie!"
No. Nononono.
Where the fuck am I? What did the Divine or the Daedra do this time?!
"AAAAAH!"
The muffled screams continued, then I heard a male voice, sure but panicked, somewhat uncertain but full of will, give useless encouragements:
"Mon amour, tu y es presque! Allez, tu peux le faire!"
Completely useless, above all because I couldn't understand a word, and the poor woman probably wasn't able due to the pain.
"AAAAAAAH!"
Also, I wasn't able to see anything. Truly splendid. Also, it was fucking cold, fucking viscid, fucking cold, fucking smelly, fucking cold, and fucking disorienting.
Did I already say the cold part? Because it truly is baffling how really, incredibly, unbearably fucking cold I felt.
And also, I could feel that my legs were freed, my poor, probably not formed, ears still not earing well above the exertion of the mother and the woman, maybe the midwife, and the husband.
Then two old hands, given the wrinkles, and the dryness, of it took me up, and started twisting me around.
I couldn't see shit, and I could hear even less.
In front of my lips I felt the cold cartilage, and it remained there for some time.
"Pourquoi ne pleure-t-il pas, Grand Maester Runciter?"
The ear remained there for a few moments, while I kept my feelings, and shouting, for myself.
It was, even in that situation, a deep and important part of "let's avoid panic and damages in anywhere I had to go" before my own self retirement.
Even if I really wanted to, in that moment.
"Je ne sais pas, mais il est en bonne santé et il respire, Votre Grâce."
The voice was tired, old. Maybe wise.
And still so fucking unclear what they were saying.
"Félicitations, c'est un fils."
The younger man, the one that seemed to be the father, made a sound between a choked sob and a laugh, while taking me from the old man.
"Peut-être qu'il pleurera dans quelque temps, avant cela nous ne pouvons que prier les sept."
I knew they weren't listening, Aela and Vilkas hadn't when Master Marence had said something similar. Or the same.
Little Kodlak wasn't exactly a normal babe, after all.
"Je vais vous laisser tranquilles à présent, Vos Altesses."
I am sure I heard a small scoff from the man, but the two who were now holding me didn't say anything.
Wait.
Was that a-
My mouth was put there by the woman, who was sweaty.
And stinky.
And breathing far too loudly.
At least she wasn't making me dr-
Nooooo.
I was not going to remember that! I refused to!
The fact that I am using past tense and didn't die due to hunger should tip on that particular damned intention.
The feminine hand started to pat my head, and a weak, feeble and sweet voice came, full of an emotion I couldn't, at the time, understand:
"Tu es notre petit Lucerys, celui qui guérira les blessures de notre famille."
Another hand came, bigger, and I was too tired of all this mess to hear more words in this language of wherever an asshole with power had sent me.
And soon, sleep took me.
Sometime later
Inhale, exhale.
Put on the smile, he is your brother Rhaenyra.
Your little brother.
Small steps could be heard along with the clanging of armour, Westerling being a shadow for her before she could even remember, while the heat behind her was warm enough even from how many steps she was before the egg.
And now he would also be her brother's shadow.
Two guards in red and black cloak, and the enormous Ser Crabb, in white, and enormous, were in front of the door, but only a nod was necessary for the two to pass a message, and Crabb knocked lightly on the door.
A woman came out, full of sweat and with red eyes, but she wasn't sad, she was smiling.
Rhaenyra gulped slightly, the feelings in her stomach strange.
She shook her head but, when the woman had made space, she didn't move.
It was like her legs were stoney, no, metalley.
She tried to move, she did, but-
Ser Westerling put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder, and without his brown beard and mustaches he was like papa when she had the fire and cold dreams and ran into his room.
Rhaenyra inhaled, and made a step, then another.
The room had a big door to a balcony, but she didn't look there.
Instead she looked at where Mama was, and she was hugging a small thing inside a blanket, that was…
Ah.
"Explain to grandmaester Runciter, and all future midwifes and maids for Lucerys, that he beats on the bed when hungry. He did so the last two times. Now Rhaenyra, come here and greet your brother."
Mama was far more hard than Papa, that she was.
Papa, instead, went where she was and took her up and, even with that strange feeling in her tummy, little Rhaenyra laughed when he took her up, and put her on his shoulders.
"Viserys, bring Rhaenyra here. I think Lucerys might want to be held by her as well."
"It shall be done!"
Yes, a trusty steed for the princess!
Who was now looking down at the pink thing that was her brother, from up.
He was ugly.
"He is ugly."
As she said.
He is reddish, he has small whiff of white hair, his purple eyes squints.
He is not as cute as she was!
Small laughs came from the people in the room, but other than that no one said anything
"Come on Viserys, you can put him on the crib while I sleep a bit."
Mama was tired, she really was.
So Papa brought her new ugly brother in the crib, and then she heard the sound of heavy metal against the stone pavement of the sunny room, and two men open the metal casket for the egg she had chosen.
It was black, and it was that the thing that made her decide it was best, after all black is best colour!
So, Papa puts the ugly brother in the cradle and, on a small nest made of metal above the head of the ugly brother, the two servants put the hot egg.
And that was that.
Then, when Papa, with little Rhaenyra on his shoulder, turned towards Mama, a crack was heard.
Then another.
Then Papa turned fast, while keeping his hands on little Rhaenyra's legs, and she was able to see it.
From the egg, a black lizard was coming out. It had four horns. It had red eyes.
It was a dragon.
Her brother's egg had already hatched and, while Mama got up to see it, Rhanery's tummy became strange again, and small tears started gathering.
Why was she so sad, why did her tummy revolt so much?