The loud thwack of the massive scorpion let the barbed bolt fly. Steel tip slicing through the air to hit the Black Dread Reborn with a wet slap, barbs sinking into the flesh - impossible to dislodge. Buttressed to the ship's hull by bolts onto ironwood crossbeams, the winches brought the chains tight. Metal and wood groaning, the carrack joining the other in holding the beast down.
At Drogon's yelps, Euron Greyjoy grinned widely. "Go! Go! Make sure he can't escape!" Days of infiltration. Of sneaking men in at all odd hours of the night, creeping along the crags and walls of the deserted castle above to surround the great dragon. It was almost too good to be true - in his morose mood, Drogon hadn't even bothered to watch his back. A fact Euron was not going to let go.
Bolts stinging his flesh, Drogon felt nearly a dozen grappling hooks sink into his wings. Thick membranes pierced but not ripped by the sharp points, hundreds of men tyros compared to him but their combined force taking advantage of his weakened, stunned state to overpower him.
"We're ready, sire!" his officer barked, everyone gathered around the special contraption he had lugged with him. Ashore. Euron smirked, narrowed his eyes, and ran off towards his prize.
Scrambling forward across the wet sand, water soaking his boots as he hid his terror - the men thought he was fearless, and Euron was determined to keep it that way - the King slammed into the side of the dragon. Scales of the base of his tail warm, almost scorching to the touch. He could feel the blood racing, heart pumping in his chest. I am in the presence of the gods… It was electrifying.
While like an ant against a dog, Drogon managed to feel the ironborn against him. Starting to hiss and shriek, desperate to crush the attacker.
Euron stumbled, nearly falling over to escape the thrashing tail slamming into the dragon's hide. "KEEP HIM PINNED DOWN!"
Atop the crags, prepared in haste and quiet as the dragon slept below - honestly, even the Salt King was shocked at how seamless it went - groups of reavers heaved two massive boulders off the cliff. Thick chains lashed around them in a powerful line that crashed atop Drogon. The dragon hooting in pain as the boulders and chain held him down further just ahead of his wings, neck jerking around in terror.
Teeth bared in a hyena-grin, Euron drew his knife and cut a gash along his palm. Red blood beginning to ooze out. "Time to taste dragonblood," he muttered, snarling and burying the knife between the black dragon's scales. As the crimson liquid gushed from the wound, he pushed his hand against the wound. Grunting in pain as the blood mixed.
As pained as Euron was, it paled in comparison to the jolt of agony released in Drogon. The dragon instinctively aware of what was happening - the darkest of the magic of old Valyria.
Deep roar overwhelming, the dragon surged up. Wings beating once. Twice. Snapping the chain and straining the hold of the ships. Grappling hook bearers tugged inward, meeting snapping jaws or crushing limbs. Euron jumped back, quickly turning tail and running back to his men. With a gout of flame, Drogon unleashed it at the closest ship. Dragonfire setting the deck alight in an inferno and breaking its back as he had done to the masters' ships at Meereen.
"RUN!" Even his hardened reavers couldn't stand against a dragon. "SAVE YOURSELVES!"
Euron gritted his teeth, drowning the fear that even he felt. "HOLD YOU CUNTS!" Pressing his blood smeared hand atop the horn, a searing heat coated it - the warmth always exuded by the metal almost sizzling from pure fire. As the beast before him engulfed the group of archers firing from the top of the cliff, the pirate king began the ancient chant.
"Eglie mēre." Euron's voice trembled, but he forced himself to hold steady. "Ānogar syt perzys." The horn shimmered blood red at his words. "Perzys syt ānogar." Sweat covered his brow, the dragon roaring. Jerking his shoulder to move even a mighty Ironborn carrack. "Nyke brōzagon va ao, tepagon nyke bisa dyni!"
Bellowing, Drogon's roar pierced the very air around the island. It had to have been heard even as far away as Stonedance. Fire rushing forth from his maw, Drogon raked the deck of the faraway carrack. Men screaming and wood splintering as the ship was awash with flames. Chains snapping off and releasing the last hold on the Black Dread reborn. Unlike the other ship, this one's hull held - a floating pyre for its crew.
Spell completed, Euron punched the shoulder of one of his crewmen. "Blow it!"
"But sire…!"
Amber eyes met Euron's, the dragon's jaw opening - baring the rows of razor-sharp teeth within.
Euron literally shoved the man to the base of the horn. "BLOW THE FUCKING THING OR WE'RE ALL DEAD!" Already Drogon was advancing, ready to tear the Salt King limb from limb…
Lips to the massive horn, the reaver blew into it. Loud, deep rumble blaring through the damp air of the cove. Markings illuminated a brilliant red. Once. Drogon stilled. Twice. He screeched in pain, slamming his head into the sand and kicking up fountains of wet soil. Thrice. The dragon went limp, nothing but rhythmic breathing as the sheer chaos of before descended into a shocking calm. Four times…
The reaver screamed, chest a muted orange-red as smoke left his mouth and nostrils. Screaming his agony for a few moments before he collapsed in the sand, lungs a charred husk.
Euron laughed - only those with unburnt blood could blow the dragonbinder horn and live. Thank the Drowned God he could read Valyrian, for he wasn't intending to be an unlucky bastard. There were plenty of illiterate fools aboard his ships that could do so.
But all paled in the face of the fallen dragon, completely still against the shore. Waves crashing against it. Slowly, completely unarmed, Euron stepped closer. The survivors of the raiding party watched from the cove, from the cliffs, and from the patrolling ships further out to sea. Completely stunned even that their fearsome captain would approach an unrestrained monster such as the Dragon Queen's mount.
Reaching his muzzle, Euron softly stroked it. "Dyni," he cooed in High Valyrian, as if the dragon's father. "Can you hear me?"
There was silence, but after only a few moments a soft whimper left the mouth of the Black Dread Reborn. Euron's resulting grin was wider than ever before.
She didn't see anyone.
Scuttlebut travelled far in the Targaryen camp along the Dusken. Spreading like wildfire through the Sept of Baelor of the latest developments - high command being a favorite subject. Stories such as the Wildling Chief Tormund quickening his seed in both the Dothraki lovers he had taken passed around to ease the monotony with laughter. News that the King and Queen weren't on speaking terms with the Lady Sansa only made the comical rumors the more important to morale.
And the fact that Ser Brienne of Tarth, one of the heroes of both the Long Night and the Dusken, did not receive any visitors was more a public service announcement. Better the men know rather than get an unwelcome greeting of the sharp end of Oathkeeper.
Such is why the knock on the wooden beam outside the tent flap surprised Brienne so. "Go away," she called out.
"I have a message for Brienne of Tarth." The voice was gruff, unserious, and somewhat familiar.
Apparently the person didn't get the message. "Go away!" she shouted, far firmer. The man ended up walking in anyway. "The fuck?! Get out!" The blonde knight moved for her sword, only to find it was lying on her cot far out of reach.
The man laughed. "Been hitting the bottle a little too much?" Littering her camp table were empty and half-empty flagons of Dornish red - bad Dornish red. "Not the best look for a Knight of the Realm."
Eyes narrowing, Brienne finally managed to put a name to the face of her visitor. "Bronn of the Blackwater." She had met him twice - once before Riverrun and once at the Dragonpit. "So you've smelled out a new coin purse in the Targaryens."
Bronn shrugged. "Lord Tyrion promised me Highgarden, though I doubt he's in a position to deliver. Still, I'm more likely to get somethin' from the Dragon Queen and the bastard…"
"Aegon Targaryen is the trueborn heir of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, so I suggest you change your words." Gods this man was annoying. If he slipped up again, Brienne would have the excuse to run a sword into his neck.
Silent for a moment, Bronn whistled. "I knew I missed the best gossip cooped up in that walled prison." He laughed. "As I was saying, the Queen of starving bellies isn't in a position to reward me, and I intend to get my castle."
Rolling her eyes, Brienne was getting tired of this. "I doubt you want to spill to me your life's ambitions, so get to the point so I can have my peace."
"Jaime Lannister asked me to come to you." Brienne's eyes widened a moment before she snapped back away. He had broken her heart enough times for her to know better. "Said for me to give you a message."
"You can toss it into a fire for all I care."
A snort left the former sellsword. "Wow, I can see why he wants you. Just as fuckin' turtured as he is."
"Yeah, wants me." Why am I bearing my soul to this shit? Then again, who else was there? Podrick or Sansa would just be awkward after. "That's why he left to continue fucking the sister that abuses him."
"Sure, wasn't the babe in her belly that had anything to do with it."
That caused her head to whip around. "Babe?"
"Aye, he got the Lion bitch pregnant before any of the shit that happened in the north. Don't know what happened there, don't want to, but it's clear it changed the man." He dropped a note on the wine-stained desk. "I got the baby out with the Queen, and I think Tyrion is taking care of im'. Dunno what happened to Jaime, though it can't be good. He knew that, but did it anyway." Bronn moved to leave. "Do what you want, but if I were you I'd at least read the note." With that he was gone.
Wine starting to clear from her system, Brienne's head pounded with what Bronn had told her. The former sellsword just roaring in like a cyclone, upending her entire isolation, then disappeared. Hand trembling, she reached for the note. Barely able to open it, so nervous she was. Eventually, her bloodshot eyes began to read the lines.
Ser Brienne
If you've gotten this note, Bronn, her Grace, and my dear son Tywin have successfully escaped the capitol. I've probably been jailed in the black cells… if not executed, though until Cersei leaves her coma I would doubt Qyburn has the balls to give the order himself.
I know you must think me scum - honestly, you are right. I have been scum for years. Let the words and lies about me turn me into the opposite of my knightly vows. Into something Rhaegar, Ser Arthur, or Ser Barristan would regard with contempt. To Tyrion, Brandon Stark, and Queen Daenerys I have tried to make amends, but you are the one I owe the most amends to.
Brienne… I had to come south. I had to deal with Cersei once and for all, for it is my madness to end. You would have insisted to come with me, but that would have ended with you at certain death instead of just me. No part of me could bear that for a person that I love.
If by some miracle we both survive Cersei's last rage-filled strike and the fire and blood their Graces will unleash in response, perhaps would you consider a betrothal of House Lannister and House Tarth? Kind as Tyrion is, I doubt he can raise a boisterous lad.
Nor could I live without you. If Aerys and Cersei broke me, you saved me.
Ser Jaime Lannister
Knight of the Realm.
For the second time in as many months, Brienne's world was shattered.
"My love," Daenerys cooed, running her hand along his brow. "You never did tell me how you got this scar."
Jon sighed, rolling onto his back. "Is it that noticeable?"
Gods, he was so adorable. Tossing her hand over his chest, Dany snuggled up to him and kissed his neck. "I honestly find it quite dashing, my warrior husband." As much as she hated his suffering, the tough warrior without peer that was King Aegon VI Targaryen set her alight. "Please do tell me, Jon. I want to know everything about you."
It was still hard for Jon to stop deprecating himself at every compliment or praise, but every day the voice of Lady Catelyn or Alliser Thorne knocking him down in his mind began to fade, replaced with the warm adoration of the woman he loved. "You are amazing, Dany."
"I try," she sultrilly replied. "Now tell me."
"Fine." He chuckled, pulling her even closer to him underneath the warm furs. "It was when I was with the wildlings. The band I was traveling with had climbed the wall…"
Dany stared at him, eyes wide. "You actually climbed that massive thing?" Could this man even be more perfect in her eyes - strong, powerful. A man that had earned his crown a thousand times over.
A laugh left Jon's lips. "It's not impossible, but far more terrifying than you think. Luckily Tormund kept me alive in spite of hating my guts at the time." It still surprised him that the ginger wildling berserker had gone from wanting to gut him like a fish into one of his closest allies. Then again, I'm here, a Targaryen Prince, with my wife the Dragon Queen in my bed. Jon figured he was just like Dany - making the impossible happen. "We were supposed to be raiding across the gift, causing trouble in order to mask Mance Rayder's plan to assault Castle Black from the south. They had a warg…"
"A warg?"
"Someone who could take over the mind of an animal. Like Bran, though he was far more powerful than the average warg - those with the blood of the ancient First Men chieftains can theoretically do it. This one had an eagle he warged into." Daenerys simply watched him, her violet eyes sparkling with pure fascination. "A horse breeder that served the Night's Watch had escaped the raiding party and they demanded I kill him. I couldn't, and had to fight my way out. The warg's eagle did this to me."
Staring at him for a moment, Daenerys burst into giggles. "Here I am, thinking some thug or reaver nicked you in a fight to the death, when in reality it was a bird."
"It was a big bird," Jon huffed.
"Oh, Jon. Cm'ere." She pulled his head until his raven curls rested between her breasts. Dany stroking through them softly as she loved doing. "You and I have lived quite interesting lives. Someone should write it all down so that future generations know what we went through in order to break the wheel."
Shifting to look up at her, Jon grinned. "Sounds like an interesting idea… perhaps you should do it."
She blinked. "Writing such a thing myself… well, I think that would ensure our exploits aren't drafted by someone who would distort everything. Although…" Dany's smile grew sultry. Seductive. "I don't think I should tell the world of our… intimate life." Her eyes blazed with a possessive lust. "Only I may enjoy this body, Aegon Targaryen."
"So it's Aegon now?" Jon said, left eyebrow rising. At Dany's teasing nod, he rolled on top of her, pinning her hands. Cock hard and resting on her belly. "You know what it does to me." The last was in a harsh whisper.
Daenerys felt her arousal returning. "Aegon…" The moan only grew louder as Jon thrust into her to the hilt. Their young marriage had been a whirlwind of utter bliss. Her pregnancy stoking her lust to the highest levels, Jon had only been happy to oblige. Neither leaving their tent as the inside became an echo chamber for lustful moans and pleasured screams, monarchs losing themselves in each other's naked bodies. "Oh fuck." Dany was delightfully sore all over from him, but her deep arousal still unsated couldn't bring herself to care. "Fuck me, Aegon."
"Dany," he hissed through gritted teeth, setting a fast pace. They had plenty of hours-long lovemaking that had her mewling her pleasure and their hearts clenching from love, but Jon wanted to have her shatter quickly. He wanted to fuck her hard, and Dany wasn't complaining. "Take it, my dragon."
"Your dragon. Only yours… gods…" Eyes rolling into the back of her head, Dany tumbled into pure ecstasy… only for Jon to keep pounding her. Grabbing her leg and throwing it over her shoulder. The new angle making her scream. "Oh fuck… please, Aegon… seven hells…" This was new, and it was amazing. "More. Please… ahhhh!" She was close to tears at how good it was.
His wife was so tight. So perfect. Jon would never tire of this woman - no other could compare, no other to draw his fancy as long as he lived. The heart, soul, and passion of the King belonged to his Queen. Now and always. The furs slid off his bare back as he doubled his pace. Knowing he was about to erupt and wanting her to join him. "Touch yourself, Dany. Find your release."
At his command she obeyed - the only one she would ever obey, knowing the same was true of him for her. Reaching between their bodies, finding her nub, it didn't take long for Daenerys to come undone. "Aegon!"
Jon not long after. "Daenerys!"
The winds of winter still blew hard outside, but the fires of the braziers and the superheated dragonblood in the King and Queen kept the tent toasty. Covered in sweat, Jon had his head buried in the crook of Dany's neck, completely spent - Dany just tried to catch her breath, fingers trailing up and down his spine. Young lovers enjoying the pleasurable aftershocks of their coupling…
In an instant, Jon and Daenerys found themselves somewhere else. Minds foggy and swaying, struggling to maintain their balance. A quick inspection found them fully clothed, greeted with harsh sea winds. "Dragonstone," Dany breathed in disbelief. How did they get here…
"Forgive me, brother. Goodsister." Both snapped their heads around to see Brandon Stark, normally serene face contorted in a grimace. "Congratulations on your wedding - I watched the whole thing." It was genuine, though without happiness - Bran sounded like he wanted to be happy, though.
"Bran, what's going on?" Jon asked, starting to worry.
A massive roar overtook them, Bran's grimace growing more pained. "The dragonbinder has returned, I'm afraid."
Suddenly, the ground shook as Drogon - scales even blacker than before if it was possible - leapt onto the cliffs from the cove below. Snarling, snapping with his teeth, Daenerys covered her mouth in horror as his normally amber-gold eyes were a bloodshot red. Angry, enraged, feral. Lacking the wise contemplation and sharpness that her eldest child exhibited.
And atop him was a sight that made both the King and Queen pale. There was Euron Greyjoy, grinning like a maniac. "Dyni!" he commanded in High Valyrian, a word that stabbed into Dany's heart - it meant beast. "Sovegon!" Drogon roared and took to the skies, obeying the command of his new rider…
"You needed to see this," Bran said with sorrow in his voice. "Only the blood of the true bond can break the curse. Good luck." The island vanished in a flash of white light…
Back in their bed, frantic violet met fearful grey. "He has Drogon," Dany murmured. "Euron has our child."
"He controls him… the dragonbinder…" Jon seemed to recall a story Maester Luwin had once told about the Valyrian dragonlords. "Drogon is his now…"
Instead of cry, instead of panic, the twin gazes of the King and Queen burned pure dragonfire. The dragons had awoken.
Soft.
Such was the first conscious thought Cersei Lannister felt. Everything shrouded in darkness, in a foggy confusion, the only feeling she could accurately register was how soft everything felt
Where am I? Why can't I open my eyes?
Apparently she started shifting, groans leaving her lips. "Wait… Lord Hand, she's awake." Further scrambling and scuffing of feet against stone tiles. Servants and healers rearranging themselves.
At last a voice she recognized. "Your Grace, can you hear me?"
"Qyburn…" Cersei croaked. Her voice was hoarse, scratchy. Barely above a whisper as her throat burned. "Where…"
A wrinkled, bony hand stroked her cheek. "You're in your chambers in Maegor's Holdfast."
"How…"
"You went into hard labor, your Grace. Lost a lot of blood."
Labor… the baby. As scared as she was, her eyes still wouldn't open. "My babe… where is my babe…?"
But Qyburn cut her off, placing something cool on her lips. "Shhhh, your Grace." A cold liquid slowly filled her mouth, soothing against her sore gullet. "Sleep. You need to recover."
"Jaime… whe…"
"Sleep, my Queen, sleep."
Jai… And then blackness once again.