THALOR
Dawn had barely broken over King's Landing when Prince Thalor Targaryen slipped from his bed, feet silent on the cold stone floor. The chamber was quiet save for the soft breathing of his sleeping dragon. Nightfury had grown considerably in the two years since his hatching—no longer the cat-sized hatchling that had emerged from the egg, but a sleek, powerful creature the size of a large hound.
Thalor approached the dragon's sleeping form, curled in a nest of pillows and furs at the foot of his bed. Even now, looking at Nightfury sent a surge of joy and disbelief through him. His friend had returned to him, across death and rebirth, across worlds and time.
"Bud," he whispered, placing a small hand on the dragon's midnight scales. "Wake up. It's time."
One brilliant green eye snapped open, immediately alert. Nightfury lifted his head, making a soft chirping sound of inquiry.
"Yes, today," Thalor confirmed, as if answering a spoken question. "We need to get to the beach before anyone else is awake."
The dragon uncurled, stretching his wings in a motion that reminded Thalor so strongly of their mornings on Berk that for a moment, he was disoriented—caught between his two lives, his two identities.
At five, his memories of being Hiccup had become clearer, more cohesive. He remembered his father, Stoick the Vast; his friends Astrid, Fishlegs, and even Snotlout; the village of Berk perched on its windswept cliffs. And most of all, he remembered his bond with Toothless—the flight, the freedom, the perfect understanding between them.
Here in Westeros, that bond remained, though everything else had changed. Toothless was now Nightfury, and Hiccup was Prince Thalor of House Targaryen, second son of the increasingly unstable King Aerys II.
But in their private moments, when no one was watching, they were still simply Hiccup and Toothless—friends, partners, two halves of a whole.
Thalor crossed to a large trunk at the foot of his bed, opening it quietly. Beneath layers of princely attire lay his secret—a saddle, crafted in pieces over months of careful work. It wasn't the elaborate contraption he'd created on Berk; he lacked the proper tools and materials for that. But it was functional—leather reinforced with lightweight metal, with straps designed to secure around Nightfury's chest and forelimbs.
"Come on," he whispered, gathering the pieces into a sack. "We need to hurry."
Nightfury padded silently to the window, looking back expectantly. The dragon had grown too large to perch on Thalor's shoulder as he once had, but was still agile enough to navigate the castle undetected when they wanted to avoid notice.
Checking once more that the corridor outside his chamber was empty, Thalor slipped out, Nightfury following like a shadow. Together, they made their way through the sleeping castle, using the hidden passages and servants' stairwells that Thalor had meticulously mapped during their nighttime explorations.
The greater challenge was leaving the Red Keep itself. The guards at the gates would certainly notice a five-year-old prince and his dragon attempting to exit the castle before dawn. But Thalor had discovered another way—a small postern gate in the seaward wall, ostensibly kept locked but with a mechanism easily manipulated by Nightfury's clever claws.
Within minutes, they were outside the castle walls, making their way down the steep path to the shore below. The beach here was rocky and narrow, bounded by cliffs on one side and the waters of Blackwater Bay on the other—unsuitable for ships to land, which meant it was rarely visited.
Perfect for what Thalor had planned.
The eastern sky was lightening to a pale gray as they reached the shore. Thalor dropped his sack on a flat rock and turned to Nightfury, who watched him with intelligent eyes.
"Today we fly," Thalor said simply.
The dragon made a sound that was unmistakably joyful, bouncing slightly on his forelegs like an excited hound.
Thalor laughed. "I know, I know. It's been too long." He began unpacking the saddle components. "But we needed to wait until you were big enough, and until I was sure the saddle would work. We can't risk being seen falling into the bay if something goes wrong."
Nightfury snorted, as if offended by the suggestion that he might allow his rider to fall.
"Hey, it's not about your flying ability," Thalor reassured him, running a hand along the dragon's smooth scales. "But this body..." He looked down at his small hands, still pudgy with childhood. "It's not the same as before. I'm not as coordinated. And the saddle's different."
For a moment, Thalor felt a pang of longing for his old self—for Hiccup's lanky frame and capable hands, for the intricate saddle and tail mechanism he'd constructed in the forge at Berk. Here, he had to make do with simpler designs, working in secret with limited tools and materials.
Thankfully, Nightfury didn't need the prosthetic tail this time. He had hatched whole and perfect in this new life, both tail fins intact. Some things, at least, had improved in their rebirth.
"Alright, let's get this on you," Thalor said, lifting the first piece of the saddle.
Nightfury stood patiently as Thalor fitted the contraption to his sleek form, adjusting straps and testing connections. Despite his small size and childish body, Thalor's hands worked with surprising dexterity, guided by muscle memory from skills he'd developed in another life.
When the saddle was secured, Thalor stepped back to assess his work. It wasn't pretty—nothing like the elegant gear he'd crafted as Hiccup—but it would serve its purpose.
"Okay, test flight," he announced, approaching Nightfury's side. "Just along the shoreline, low and slow to start."
The dragon crouched obligingly, allowing Thalor to climb onto the saddle. The boy settled himself, securing his legs with the straps he'd designed. The feel of the saddle beneath him, of Nightfury's powerful body between his legs, sent a rush of familiarity through him.
This was right. This was who they were meant to be.
"Ready, bud?" he whispered.
Nightfury's response was immediate—a powerful thrust of his wings that lifted them off the rocky beach and into the air. Thalor's stomach lurched at the sudden movement, his small hands clutching the front of the saddle.
For a moment, fear flashed through him—the primitive human fear of falling, of being so high above the ground with nothing but scales and leather keeping him from plummeting to his death.
But then his other self—his Hiccup self—took over, and the fear transformed into exhilaration.
"Yes!" he shouted, unable to contain his joy as Nightfury leveled out, gliding just above the surface of Blackwater Bay. "Oh gods, I've missed this!"
Nightfury trumpeted in agreement, a sound unlike the roars of historical Targaryen dragons—higher, more melodious, but no less powerful. The dragon banked slightly, following the curve of the shoreline, keeping low as instructed but clearly eager to climb higher, to truly test his wings.
"Not yet," Thalor cautioned, patting Nightfury's neck. "We need to make sure the saddle holds first."
They continued along the shore, gradually gaining speed and altitude as Thalor's confidence in his equipment—and his own balance—grew. The wind whipped through his silver-gold hair, so different from the auburn locks of his previous life, and brought tears to his eyes.
But they were tears of joy. After two long years of waiting, planning, remembering, they were finally flying again.
As the sun crested the horizon, painting the bay in shades of gold and amber, Thalor made a decision.
"Let's go up," he said, leaning forward against Nightfury's neck. "Just a little higher. I want to see the sunrise properly."
The dragon needed no further encouragement. With a powerful beat of his wings, Nightfury climbed into the brightening sky, spiraling upward with the same grace and power Thalor remembered from their flights over Berk.
When they were several hundred feet above the water, high enough that the Red Keep appeared small in the distance but not so high as to be easily visible from the city, Nightfury leveled out, hovering on the morning air currents.
Thalor sat up straight in the saddle, taking in the panoramic view of King's Landing and the lands beyond. The city sprawled below them, still mostly slumbering in the early dawn light. The Blackwater Rush glinted like a silver ribbon, and far to the north, he could see the faint outline of the Kingswood.
It was beautiful, in its way. Different from the wild, rugged beauty of the archipelago around Berk, but magnificent nonetheless.
"It's not home yet," Thalor said softly, knowing Nightfury would understand. "But maybe it could be, someday."
The dragon rumbled in agreement, a vibration Thalor felt through the saddle.
For several minutes, they simply hovered there, watching the sunrise and enjoying the sensation of being airborne together once more. But as the sky brightened further, Thalor reluctantly acknowledged they needed to return.
"Time to head back, bud. We can't risk being seen."
Nightfury chuffed in disappointment but obediently banked, beginning a gentle descent toward their secluded beach. As they glided downward, Thalor's mind was already racing with improvements he could make to the saddle, ways they could extend their flights, places they could explore safely away from prying eyes.
There was so much to rediscover, so much to relearn. His body might be smaller, weaker than before, but his mind held all the knowledge of his previous life.
They landed smoothly on the rocky beach, the saddle holding perfectly despite the dragon's growing size and the rigors of their brief flight. Thalor slid from Nightfury's back, legs a bit unsteady from the unfamiliar exercise but his heart lighter than it had been since his rebirth.
"We did it," he said, unable to keep the grin from his face as he stroked Nightfury's sleek head. "First flight in this life—successful!"
The dragon warbled happily, butting his head against Thalor's chest with affection. Then, to Thalor's surprise, Nightfury pulled back and began scratching at the pebbly sand with his foreclaw.
"What are you doing?" Thalor asked, watching curiously.
With deliberate movements, Nightfury drew a series of lines in the sand—curves and angles that gradually formed a recognizable shape. When he finished, he looked up expectantly.
Thalor stared at the drawing, his throat suddenly tight with emotion. It was crude, limited by the medium and the dragon's claws, but unmistakable—a simplified map of Berk and its surrounding waters.
"You remember," he whispered, kneeling beside the drawing. "You remember everything, don't you?"
Nightfury made a soft sound of confirmation, using his snout to point at a specific spot on the crude map—the cove where they had first bonded, where a downed dragon and a misfit Viking had become friends against all odds.
Thalor felt tears spring to his eyes. "I miss it too, sometimes," he admitted, tracing the outline with his finger. "But we're here now. We have each other. And maybe... maybe we're here for a reason."
The dragon erased the drawing with a sweep of his tail, then began a new one—simpler this time, just a circle with lines radiating from it. After a moment, Thalor recognized it as a rough approximation of the Iron Throne as seen from above.
"You think that's why we're here? For the throne?" Thalor frowned, uncertain. "I'm not the heir. Rhaegar is."
Nightfury snorted dismissively, adding more lines to his drawing—stick figures, one larger than the others, standing before the throne.
Thalor studied the crude drawing, then looked up at his dragon with widening eyes. "No, not for me to take the throne... but to protect it? To protect the realm?"
The dragon nodded emphatically, making a soft rumbling sound in his throat.
It made a strange kind of sense. Why else would they have been reborn into this specific time and place? Hiccup and Toothless, who had brought peace between Vikings and dragons, now reincarnated in a land teetering on the edge of chaos, with winter and unknown threats looming on the horizon.
"The North," Thalor murmured, remembering fragments of conversation he'd overheard between his father and the Small Council. "There are strange reports from beyond the Wall. Things stirring that haven't been seen for thousands of years."
Could that be why they were here? To face a threat even greater than the Red Death?
Nightfury erased his drawing again, this time sketching a rough outline of a wall with humanoid figures on the other side—tall, thin figures with what appeared to be weapons in their hands.
"You've seen them?" Thalor asked, startled. "In dreams?"
The dragon nodded, his green eyes solemn.
"We need to know more," Thalor decided, standing and brushing sand from his clothes. "We need to prepare. If there's a threat coming, we have to be ready to face it."
He began removing the saddle from Nightfury's back, carefully repacking the components into the sack he'd brought. His mind was racing with new purpose, new understanding.
"We'll train harder," he told Nightfury as they prepared to make their way back to the Red Keep. "Every morning, before anyone else wakes. We'll get stronger, faster. And I'll start working on better equipment—not just for flying, but for fighting too."
The dragon rumbled in agreement, eyes gleaming with determination that matched Thalor's own.
—-
"Higher, Nightfury! Push harder!"
Thalor's voice rang out across the training yard, empty at this early hour save for the young prince and his dragon. Sweat plastered his silver-gold hair to his forehead despite the cool morning air.
The dragon, now almost as large as a warhorse, thrust powerfully upward from his haunches, wings tucked tight against his body as he attempted to clear the barrier Thalor had constructed—a series of wooden poles set at increasingly challenging heights.
Nightfury sailed over the highest bar, a good twelve feet off the ground, landing with unexpected grace for a creature of his size on the other side. He turned, eyes bright with accomplishment, warbling questioningly at Thalor.
"Perfect," Thalor confirmed, making a notation in a small leather-bound book he carried. "Your vertical leap is improving." He glanced up at the lightening sky. "We have time for one more drill before breakfast."
It had been two months since their first flight, and their training regimen had intensified with each passing week. They used these early morning hours not just for flying practice over the bay, but for a comprehensive program Thalor had developed based on his memories of training dragons on Berk.
Speed drills, agility courses, target practice with Nightfury's flame—all conducted in strictest secrecy, before the castle properly awakened. Occasionally a servant or guard would glimpse them, but Thalor was careful to frame these sessions as simple play or basic obedience training rather than the sophisticated combat preparation they actually were.
"Let's work on flame control," Thalor decided, moving toward a series of targets he'd set up along one wall. "Remember, precision over power."
Nightfury lined up before the targets—concentric circles painted on wooden shields at varying distances. At Thalor's signal, the dragon fired, not the sustained stream of flame typical of Targaryen dragons of old, but precise plasma blasts—concentrated bursts of blue-white fire that struck the center of each target with pinpoint accuracy.
"Good," Thalor praised, approaching to examine the scorch marks. "Much better control than last week. You're adjusting perfectly for the wind."
The dragon preened slightly at the praise, head held high with pride.
"Prince Thalor?" a voice called from the entrance to the training yard.
Thalor turned to see Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, approaching with a puzzled expression. The knight was one of the few adults at court who treated Thalor as more than just a precocious child, and the prince had developed a genuine respect for the man.
"Ser Willem," Thalor acknowledged, closing his notebook and tucking it into his belt. "You're up early."
"As are you, my prince. Again." The knight's weathered face creased in a smile. "These morning sessions of yours are becoming quite the routine. May I ask what you're working on today?"
Thalor hesitated, considering how much to reveal. "Just some basic training exercises. Nightfury needs regular activity to stay healthy."
Ser Willem glanced at the scorched targets, then at the jumping barriers, his expression thoughtful. "Basic training, indeed. Those are precision strike targets, my prince—the same pattern we use to train elite archers."
"Are they?" Thalor feigned surprise, though he'd deliberately copied the design from watching the castle's archery training. "I just thought they'd make good targets for Nightfury to aim at."
The knight wasn't fooled. "And the height markers on those jumping poles? The carefully spaced obstacles? The timing records I've seen you keeping in that book?" He shook his head, impressed despite himself. "This is a more sophisticated training program than most knights develop for their warhorses, my prince."
Caught out, Thalor opted for a partial truth. "I want Nightfury to be the best he can be. Not just big and strong, but agile and precise too. Different from the dragons in the histories."
"Different indeed." Ser Willem approached Nightfury, who watched him with intelligent wariness but made no threatening move. "Your dragon is unlike any described in the chronicles of House Targaryen. Smaller, faster, more agile. And that flame—" He gestured toward the targets. "I've never seen dragon fire so controlled, so blue, so precise."
"Nightfury is special," Thalor said simply.
"As are you, my prince." Ser Willem studied Thalor with keen eyes. "Five namedays, and already designing training regimens that would impress veteran knights. Speaking multiple languages. Reading tomes most adults would find challenging."
Thalor shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Despite his mental maturity, he'd tried to moderate his behavior, to seem more like a normal child, if a gifted one. But it was increasingly difficult to maintain the pretense.
"I just want to learn everything I can," he said carefully. "About dragons, about fighting, about... everything."
Ser Willem nodded slowly. "Knowledge is a worthy pursuit for a prince. But I wonder—" He paused, choosing his words deliberately. "I wonder if there's something specific you're preparing for?"
The question caught Thalor off guard. Was he that transparent? Or was Ser Willem simply more observant than most?
"The world is full of dangers," he answered after a moment, the words coming out more solemn than he'd intended. "A prince should be ready to face them."
Rather than dismissing this as childish imagination, Ser Willem regarded him with new interest. "Indeed, my prince. And what dangers do you foresee that require such... thorough preparation?"
Thalor hesitated, torn between caution and the desire for an ally who might take his concerns seriously. "Have you ever been to the Wall, Ser Willem?"
"Once, when I was young. A cold, forbidding place." The knight frowned. "Why do you ask?"
"There are stories," Thalor said carefully. "Old stories about what lies beyond. Things that sleep in the ice."
To his credit, Ser Willem didn't laugh or dismiss these words as childish fancy. "The old tales. White Walkers and their army of the dead." He studied Thalor's face intently. "Strange concerns for one so young, my prince."
"Maybe," Thalor acknowledged. "But the histories say they came once before, during the Long Night. Who's to say they won't come again?"
A lengthy silence followed as Ser Willem processed this surprisingly mature assessment from a five-year-old prince. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.
"If I may offer a suggestion, my prince?" At Thalor's nod, he continued. "Your training program for Nightfury is impressive, but it could be enhanced. There are combat techniques—both for mount and rider—that I could teach you, if you wished."
Thalor's eyes widened. "You would help us train?"
"In secret, for now," Ser Willem clarified. "It would not do to have the court gossip about a five nameday prince practicing war maneuvers. But yes, I could provide instruction during these early morning sessions."
"Why?" Thalor asked bluntly. "Why would you offer this?"
Ser Willem's weathered face grew solemn. "Because I have served House Targaryen all my life, my prince. Because I see in you something... remarkable. And because—" He glanced at the sky, his expression troubled. "Because I too have heard disquieting reports from the North. Nothing concrete, nothing certain. But enough to make a cautious man prepare."
Thalor exchanged a glance with Nightfury, who gave a small nod of approval. "We would be honored to learn from you, Ser Willem."
"Good. We'll start tomorrow." The knight bowed slightly. "And now, I believe it's nearly time to break our fast. Your lady mother will be looking for you."
As they walked together toward the keep, Nightfury padding silently beside them, Thalor felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He had found an ally—someone who didn't dismiss his concerns, who might even help him prepare for whatever lay ahead.
It was a small step, but an important one. Because deep in his bones, in the memories that spanned two lives, Thalor knew that winter was coming. And when it did, he and Nightfury would need to be ready.
Back in his chambers, preparing for the day's lessons with the maesters his mother had appointed, Thalor paused to look out his window toward the north. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the Wall, and beyond that, the threats that haunted Nightfury's dreams.
"We'll be ready," he promised softly, running his fingers over the rough designs in his notebook—sketches for armor, for weapons, for inventions that might help them face what was coming.
And this time, with proper preparation, perhaps they wouldn't have to sacrifice themselves to save it.