AN: Having two detailed maps of Westeros ready 24/7 in my photo favourite section…is crazy to me, but practical. AND don't even get me started on these names.
THALOR
Morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the Broken Tower, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air above Thalor's workbench. The prince stood with sleeves rolled up, carefully adjusting a delicate mechanical device—a miniature version of the water pumps being installed throughout King's Landing as part of his sewage system overhaul. His slender fingers, already displaying the calluses of a craftsman despite his young age, deftly tightened a tiny brass fitting.
Nightfury lounged on his customized platform near the large opening in the tower's wall, basking in the sun while keeping a watchful eye on his rider.
"What do you think she'll make of all this?" Thalor asked, not looking up from his work.
Nightfury rumbled thoughtfully, a sound that conveyed complex meaning to Thalor's experienced ear. After their many years together across two lifetimes, dragon and rider had developed communication that transcended conventional understanding.
"True," Thalor acknowledged with a faint smile. "This isn't exactly what most noble girls expect when visiting a prince." He gestured around the workshop with its forge, drafting tables, mechanical parts, and walls covered in detailed drawings and schematics. "She probably anticipates something more... princely."
The dragon snorted, a sound remarkably like laughter.
"Yes, well, we've never been conventional, have we?" Thalor set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth. "But there's something about her, bud. Behind that perfect courtly mask... she's sharper than she lets on. More ambitious."
Nightfury's eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting in a question.
"No, not in a concerning way," Thalor clarified. "Just... interesting. She reminds me a bit of Astrid, actually. That same fierce determination beneath a controlled exterior." A hint of nostalgic sadness crossed his features at the mention of his friend from his previous life—a friend lost to him forever when he and Toothless had died fighting the Red Death.
The dragon crooned softly, a sound of comfort and shared remembrance.
"I know," Thalor sighed, crossing to scratch Nightfury behind the ear flaps in the spot he knew his friend loved. "That was another lifetime. Literally. But sometimes the echoes are strong enough to catch me off guard." He smiled more genuinely. "Regardless, Lady Cersei is certainly not what I expected from Tywin Lannister's daughter. I thought she'd be a perfect miniature lion—all ambition and cold calculation."
Nightfury made a skeptical sound.
"Oh, the ambition is there," Thalor agreed with a chuckle. "Practically radiating from her. But there's something else too—a genuine curiosity, a mind that wants more than just power for power's sake." He shrugged. "Or perhaps I'm seeing what I want to see. We'll find out soon enough. She's due to arrive within the hour."
A knock at the workshop door interrupted their conversation. Maester Gyldayn entered, carrying a stack of parchments and looking mildly harried, as was his usual state these days.
"Your Highness, I've brought the reports from the Gulltown engineers. They've reviewed your harbor drainage designs and have several suggestions regarding the tidal calculations." The aging maester glanced around the workshop. "I see you've... tidied up somewhat for your visitor?"
"Organized, not hidden," Thalor corrected, gesturing to the neatly arranged workbenches and swept floors. "This is who I am, Gyldayn. If Lady Cersei is to form an accurate impression, she should see the reality, not some sanitized version crafted to meet courtly expectations."
The maester's expression was doubtful. "Most young ladies of noble birth expect a certain... decorum from princes. Particularly Targaryen princes."
"Most young ladies haven't been raised by Tywin Lannister," Thalor countered with a knowing smile. "Cersei has been trained to look beyond surface appearances to assess true value and potential. I suspect she'll appreciate honesty more than pretense."
The speculation was only partly for Gyldayn's benefit. In truth, Thalor was still assessing Cersei Lannister himself. Their conversation at the previous night's feast had intrigued him—she was clearly intelligent, politically astute, and possessed a quick mind that adapted rapidly to new information. But there remained the question of her character, her true nature beneath the perfect courtly manners she had been taught to display.
Was she merely her father's daughter, seeking power and position through calculated alliance? Or was there more depth to her, more potential for genuine partnership and understanding? The answer would determine much about how Thalor approached their developing acquaintance.
"The Lady Cersei will be accompanied by her chaperones, I assume?" Gyldayn asked, setting the engineering reports on a side table.
"Her mother's cousins, yes. Two perfectly respectable ladies who will ensure all propriety is maintained," Thalor confirmed with a hint of amusement at the formality. "They'll likely spend most of the visit looking horrified at the sight of a prince with tools in his hands."
The maester sighed, long accustomed to his princely charge's unconventional attitudes. "I'll ensure refreshments are prepared in your receiving room. Will you be showing the lady your entire workshop, or merely the more... presentable sections?"
"I'll be guided by her interest," Thalor replied. "If she shows genuine curiosity about the projects, I'll explain them. If her eyes glaze over at the mention of mechanical engineering, we'll move on to more typical courtly pastimes."
Nightfyre made a sound that clearly conveyed skepticism, earning a grin from Thalor.
"Yes, I know," he admitted. "I've never been particularly skilled at typical courtly pastimes. But I can manage polite conversation about the weather and court gossip if absolutely necessary."
The dragon's expression suggested profound doubt about this claim, causing Gyldayn to chuckle despite himself. The maester was one of the few people at court who fully appreciated the depth of communication between Thalor and Nightfury.
"I shall leave you to your preparations, then," Gyldayn said with a small bow. "If you need anything before your guests arrive, I'll be in the library chambers below."
After the maester had departed, Thalor turned back to Nightfury. "We should get you ready too, bud. I want to make a good impression."
The dragon stretched luxuriously before rising to his full height, wings half-extending in the large space. Despite his considerable size, Nightfury moved with a grace and precision that distinguished him from the ponderous beasts described in historical accounts of Targaryen dragons. There was something almost catlike in his movements—a controlled power that spoke of athletic capability rather than brute force.
Thalor retrieved a specialized brush from a nearby cabinet and began carefully grooming Nightfury's scales, working methodically from head to tail. The dragon purred contentedly at the attention, occasionally adjusting his position to give Thalor better access to particular spots.
"You know," Thalor mused as he worked, "Cersei probably expects me to have servants perform this task. Most nobles would consider dragon grooming beneath their dignity."
Nightfury snorted derisively.
"Exactly. You're not a horse to be handed off to stable boys." Thalor moved to the sensitive area around Nightfury's ear flaps, brushing with extra gentleness. "Besides, this is important for both of us. The physical connection, the trust. It's what makes our bond different from the rider-mount relationship the old Targaryens had with their dragons."
It was one of the many ways Thalor and Nightfury diverged from historical precedent. Where the dragonlords of old had commanded their beasts through force of will and Valyrian blood magic, Thalor's relationship with Nightfury was built on mutual respect and understanding—a partnership of equals carried forward from their previous lives as Hiccup and Toothless.
The unique nature of their bond had not gone unnoticed at court. Some, like Maester Gyldayn and Ser Willem Darry, regarded it with scholarly interest or practical appreciation. Others, particularly the older courtiers steeped in Targaryen tradition, found it unsettling or even inappropriate—a prince treating a dragon as a friend rather than a weapon or symbol of power.
King Aerys alternated between seeing it as confirmation of Thalor's special destiny and being suspicious of the unusual independence Nightfury displayed. The dragon's obvious intelligence and decision-making capacity sometimes triggered the king's paranoia, leading to uncomfortable questions about whether Thalor truly controlled his dragon or merely cooperated with it.
As Thalor completed the grooming, he heard the distant sound of the tower's lower door opening, followed by voices echoing up the spiral staircase. He quickly put away the grooming tools and straightened his attire—simple but high-quality clothing suitable for a prince who worked with his hands. Not formal court wear, but neither the stained work clothes he often wore when deep in a project.
"Remember, best behavior," he told Nightfury with a small smile. "No setting anything on fire unless specifically requested."
The dragon managed an expression that somehow conveyed both perfect innocence and mischievous amusement, causing Thalor to laugh.
"You know exactly what I mean. Lady Cersei is important—both politically and potentially personally. I'd like her to leave with a favorable impression of both of us."
Nightfury's expression shifted to something more serious, a thoughtful consideration that reminded Thalor yet again that his dragon was far more than a mere animal. After a moment, the dragon nodded—a deliberate, human-like gesture that never failed to startle those witnessing it for the first time.
The sound of footsteps grew closer, and Thalor moved to position himself near the workshop entrance, neither too eager nor too casual. Nightfury arranged himself in a dignified pose nearby, wings neatly folded, tail curled around his forelegs in a position that managed to be both regal and approachable.
A servant appeared at the doorway, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, Lady Cersei Lannister and her chaperones, Lady Myra and Lady Janna Lannister."
"Show them in," Thalor instructed, assuming the princely demeanor that came less naturally to him than his inventor's enthusiasm but which protocol demanded for formal introductions.
Cersei entered first, a vision in crimson and gold that immediately brightened the workshop's utilitarian atmosphere. Her golden hair was arranged in an elegant style appropriate for a noble girl of ten, and she wore a gown of deep red silk with subtle gold embroidery—Lannister colors that complemented her fair skin and emerald eyes. She curtseyed with perfect grace, every inch the great lord's daughter.
"Your Highness, thank you for your kind invitation," she said, her voice measured and melodious.
"Lady Cersei, welcome to the Broken Tower," Thalor replied with a formal bow. "I'm pleased you could join us today." He turned to acknowledge the two older women who had entered behind her—Lannister cousins in their middle years, dressed in rich but conservative attire, their expressions combining proper deference with keen assessment of their surroundings. "Ladies Myra and Janna, you honor us with your presence as well."
The chaperones curtseyed deeply, murmuring appropriate responses while their eyes darted around the workshop, taking in the unusual setting with poorly concealed surprise. Thalor suppressed a smile, recognizing the exact reaction Gyldayn had predicted.
"I've arranged for refreshments in the receiving room," he continued, gesturing toward a doorway leading to a smaller, more conventionally furnished chamber adjoining the main workshop. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable there while I show Lady Cersei the workshop and introduce her to Nightfury?"
It was a calculated suggestion—separating Cersei from her chaperones would allow for more genuine conversation, while still maintaining propriety by keeping them within earshot in an adjoining room. The older women exchanged glances, clearly weighing court protocol against the wishes of a prince of the blood.
"We would be delighted to avail ourselves of your hospitality, Your Highness," Lady Myra finally replied with careful diplomacy. "Though of course we must remain... nearby... to Lady Cersei."
"Of course," Thalor agreed smoothly. "You'll be able to see and hear us perfectly from the receiving room, I assure you. And Maester Gyldayn will attend you should you require anything."
With the chaperones diplomatically settled in the adjoining chamber, where they could technically fulfill their duties while allowing Cersei a measure of conversational freedom, Thalor turned his attention back to his primary guest.
"Now then, Lady Cersei, shall we begin with formal introductions?" he asked, a hint of genuine warmth entering his voice now that the most rigid protocol had been observed.
Cersei's eyes, a shade of green not unlike his own, flickered briefly to Nightfury before returning to meet Thalor's gaze. "I would be honored, Your Highness."
"Thalor, please," he reminded her with a small smile. "At least when protocol allows."
A matching smile briefly curved her lips. "Thalor," she acknowledged. "And yes, I would very much like to be properly introduced to Nightfury."
Thalor led her toward where the dragon waited, noting with approval that she showed no sign of fear—only proper caution and genuine curiosity. Many adults, let alone children of ten, found themselves unable to approach Nightfury without visible fear.
"Nightfury," Thalor said formally, "may I present Lady Cersei of House Lannister, daughter of Lord Tywin, Hand of the King." Then, to Cersei: "When approaching a dragon, it's best to move confidently but respectfully. Nightfury is remarkably gentle, but he appreciates good manners as much as any courtier."
Cersei's eyes widened slightly at this characterization, but she composed herself quickly. "How should I greet him? Is there a particular protocol?"
"You may extend your hand if you wish, palm outward," Thalor instructed. "It allows him to become familiar with your scent. But don't reach directly for his head until he indicates he's comfortable with you."
With remarkable poise, Cersei stepped forward and extended her hand as directed, her emerald eyes meeting Nightfury's matching gaze steadily. "It's an honor to meet you properly, Nightfury," she said, her voice betraying only a slight tremor that spoke more of excitement than fear.
The dragon studied her intently for a moment, his intelligent eyes assessing in a way that Thalor knew many found unnerving. Then, with deliberate grace, Nightfury lowered his head and gently pressed his snout against her outstretched palm.
Cersei's sharp intake of breath was followed by a genuine smile of delight—not the practiced courtly expression she typically wore, but a moment of unguarded wonder that transformed her features. "He's warm," she observed with surprise. "And his scales... they're smoother than I expected."
"Nightfury has different scale patterns than the dragons of Old Valyria," Thalor explained, pleased by her reaction. "More aerodynamic, better suited for speed and precision flying rather than brute strength."
"It's... an old designation, from texts I discovered in the Dragonstone archives," he continued. "The maesters believe Nightfyre represents a different breed than the dragons ridden by Aegon the Conqueror and his descendants."
It was a necessary deflection. He couldn't very well explain that the name "Nightfury" was the classification Vikings had used for Toothless's species in their previous life on Berk. Some truths were too complicated for even the most promising new acquaintances.
Fortunately, Cersei seemed to accept the explanation, her attention returning to Nightfury. "May I touch his scales properly?" she asked.
"You may," Thalor confirmed. "He'll let you know if he's uncomfortable, but he seems quite taken with you already."
With careful reverence, Cersei ran her fingers along Nightfury's sleek head, marveling at the texture and warmth. The dragon closed his eyes contentedly at her touch, a soft rumble of pleasure emanating from his throat.
"He's purring," she said with surprised delight. "Like a massive cat."
"One of many ways he differs from historical accounts of dragons," Thalor acknowledged. "Nightfury expresses emotions in ways that are sometimes more reminiscent of mammals than reptiles. The maesters find it fascinating."
"As do I," Cersei admitted, her courtly reserve momentarily forgotten in genuine wonder. "The tapestries at Casterly Rock show Targaryen dragons as fearsome beasts, all teeth and fury. Nightfury seems... aware. Almost human in his expressions."
"More aware than many humans, in my experience," Thalor said with a small smile, watching as Nightfury preened slightly under the appreciation. "He understands everything we're saying right now, and has opinions on most of it."
As if to demonstrate this point, Nightfury made a sound that somehow conveyed amused agreement, causing Cersei to laugh—a light, genuine sound that Thalor suspected few at court ever heard.
"Remarkable," she breathed, continuing to stroke the dragon's scales with growing confidence. "Truly remarkable."
"Would you like to see the rest of the workshop?" Thalor offered, sensing her genuine interest. "Most of our visitors find Nightfury so fascinating they forget there's anything else to see, but if you're curious about my projects..."
"I am," Cersei said, surprising him with her enthusiasm. "Ser Gerold mentioned your work on the city's sewage systems, and my father has spoken of various innovations you've introduced. I'd like to understand them better."
Thalor studied her with renewed interest. Most noble ladies, particularly those Cersei's age, would have politely declined such an offer in favor of more traditional courtly pastimes. That she showed genuine curiosity about his engineering projects suggested either a remarkably broad education or a naturally inquisitive mind—or both.
"Then allow me to give you the tour," he said, gesturing toward the main workbenches. "We'll start with the water management systems, since those are currently the most visible projects throughout the city."
For the next hour, Thalor guided Cersei through his workshop, explaining various inventions and innovations with growing enthusiasm as it became clear she was not merely being polite but genuinely following his explanations. He showed her the miniature water pump models, the drafting tables with architectural plans for improved city infrastructure, and the specialized tools he had designed for various applications.
To his continued surprise, Cersei asked intelligent questions throughout—not just about the aesthetic or social implications of his work, but about the technical aspects as well. When he explained the principles behind his improved water filtration system, she immediately grasped the public health implications.
"So it's not just about convenience or removing odors," she observed thoughtfully. "By separating waste from drinking water, you're preventing the spread of diseases like the bloody flux."
"Exactly," Thalor confirmed, impressed by her quick understanding. "Most people focus on the immediate benefits—less smell, cleaner streets—but the real impact is measured in lives saved, particularly among the poorest residents who have had the least access to clean water."
Cersei tilted her head slightly, considering this. "It's not the sort of glory most princes seek," she noted without judgment. "Songs are rarely sung about sewage systems, no matter how many lives they save."
"True enough," Thalor acknowledged with a wry smile. "But effectiveness matters more to me than recognition. Besides," he added, gesturing toward Nightfury, who had followed their tour with evident interest, "I have a dragon. If I ever feel my ego needs bolstering, a flight around the city usually suffices."
That drew another genuine laugh from Cersei. "A fair point. Though I imagine flying a dragon brings its own type of glory, recognition or not."
"It does," Thalor agreed, his expression warming at the thought. "There's nothing in the world like it—the freedom, the perspective it gives you. Seeing the world from above changes how you think about everything below."
"I can only imagine," Cersei said softly, a hint of wistfulness in her tone that caught Thalor's attention.
He studied her for a moment, an idea forming in his mind—impulsive perhaps, but intriguing. "Perhaps someday you won't have to imagine," he suggested carefully. "Nightfury is large enough now to carry a passenger in addition to myself, with the proper safety equipment."
Cersei's eyes widened, a flash of naked longing crossing her features before her courtly composure reasserted itself. "You would... consider taking me flying?" she asked, her voice admirably steady despite the evident excitement beneath.
"Not today," Thalor clarified, glancing toward the receiving room where the chaperones would undoubtedly have apoplexy at the mere suggestion. "It would require proper preparations, specialized safety gear, and of course, approvals from your father and mine." He smiled at her barely concealed disappointment. "But yes, I would consider it. Nightfury and I don't often take passengers, but for the right person, under the right circumstances..."
The implication was clear—this was not a casual offer he made to any court visitor. It represented a level of trust and interest that went beyond mere political courtesy.
Cersei understood perfectly, her quick mind grasping both the offer and its significance. "I would be honored to be considered," she replied with formal words that nevertheless conveyed genuine gratitude. "And I can be very patient when a goal is worthwhile."
Their eyes met in a moment of shared understanding—two children by age but with minds that operated on more adult levels, recognizing in each other something beyond the typical courtly interactions of their peers.
The moment was interrupted by Nightfury, who made a soft sound to draw Thalor's attention. The dragon gestured subtly toward a water clock on a nearby shelf, indicating the time.
"It seems my timekeeper believes we should move on to refreshments," Thalor explained with a smile. "And he's right—we've kept your chaperones waiting quite long enough in the receiving room."
"Of course," Cersei agreed, her perfect court manners sliding back into place. "Though I must say, this has been far more interesting than the typical court entertainment."
As they joined the chaperones for refreshments, Thalor watched Cersei shift seamlessly into the role of perfect noble daughter—answering Lady Myra's concerned questions about the "dreadful noise and dust" of the workshop with reassurances that she had found it all most educational, thanking Lady Janna for her patience with appropriate deference.
It was a masterful performance, and one he recognized all too well from his own experiences navigating court expectations that often conflicted with his true interests and nature.
Throughout the remainder of the visit, as they discussed more conventional topics over tea and small cakes, Thalor found his interest in Cersei Lannister deepening. Behind the golden beauty and perfect manners lay a keen intelligence and natural curiosity that matched his own in many ways. She was her father's daughter, certainly—politically astute and ambitious—but there seemed to be more to her than mere Lannister calculation.
Whether that "more" represented a potential for genuine connection or simply a more sophisticated form of political maneuvering remained to be seen. But Thalor was intrigued enough to want to find out.
When the visit concluded and formal farewells had been exchanged, Cersei paused at the workshop door for a final moment. "Thank you for showing me your work," she said quietly, while her chaperones were distracted by Maester Gyldayn's offers to escort them back to Maegor's Holdfast. "And for introducing me to Nightfury properly. It was... illuminating."
"You're welcome, Cersei," Thalor replied with equal sincerity. "Few visitors show genuine interest in understanding rather than merely observing. It was... refreshing."
Her smile then—quick and genuine before the proper court mask resettled—stayed with Thalor long after she had departed.
"Well?" he asked Nightfury once they were alone again. "What did you think?"
The dragon considered for a moment, then made a series of sounds and gestures that conveyed a complex assessment—approval of Cersei's courage and intelligence, caution regarding her Lannister ambitions, but overall interest in further interactions.
"My thoughts exactly," Thalor agreed, returning to his workbench with renewed energy. "She's not what I expected. There's depth there, and genuine curiosity. Whether it develops into true understanding or remains at the level of political calculation..." He shrugged. "Time will tell."
As he resumed work on the water pump model, Thalor found his mind returning to Cersei's expression when he had suggested the possibility of taking her flying. The raw longing, the naked ambition, the genuine wonder—all combined in a moment of unguarded emotion that revealed more about her true nature than hours of careful conversation might have done.
There was something compelling about Cersei Lannister—a combination of sharp intelligence, natural charisma, and barely constrained ambition that reminded him of precious few people he had known across his two lifetimes. Whether that made her a potential ally or a potential concern remained to be determined.
But one thing was certain: their interaction had only just begun, and Thalor found himself genuinely looking forward to seeing how it might develop.
He glanced at Nightfury, who was watching him with knowing eyes. "Yes, alright," he admitted with a small smile. "I like her. More than I expected to. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? She's still a Lannister, raised by Tywin himself to advance his ambitions."
The dragon's expression somehow conveyed amused skepticism, as if to suggest that Thalor's caution came too late—his interest was already engaged beyond mere political consideration.
"You're impossible," Thalor told his friend with mock severity. "Always thinking you know my mind better than I do."
Nightfury's rumbling laugh filled the workshop as afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor as the dragon and his rider returned to their work, both privately contemplating the golden-haired visitor who had, in just one meeting, carved out a place in their considerations for the future.