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A Lizard, a Snake, and a Lot of Ice
fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire (sort of)
characters:
Daemon Targaryen aka Drogon the Dragon,
Oberyn Martell aka Giant Red SerpentHave you seen this sward? No? Then burn! Next!
Last edited by 42 (2024-06-12 14:34:16)
It would not have taken a genius to notice that Drogon was growing restless that day. The Viper could see it in the twitching of his wings, in quite growls, in the way he turned his head to the north sometimes as if trying to see something through the endless sea of Westerosi forests.
They had landed in a forgotten corner of the shore in the Stormlands, so remote from any village that even a giant snake felt threatened from time to time. They should have come down to the blessed shores of Dorne, but the first winter storms on the Narrow Sea had other plans for them. Still, the Viper could not imagine that it was the bad weather and the obscene amount of greenery that had spoiled the mood of his companion. And it was not an unexpected welcoming party from the Lannisters either – the serpent would have felt the presence of foreigners as surely as any dragon. No, it was something else. Something that even the other two dragons could not feel or maybe could not comprehend. It was not a good sign.
The Viper has no means to ask, so he patiently – as patiently as his nature would allow him – waited until nightfall, until the time he could coil around the tent of their little dragon queen and rest his head on his tail. Then he threw one last glance at the black dragon nestling not far from him and let his eyes become empty and glassy. He fell asleep.
As was expected, Oberyn was the first one to appear in the grey emptiness they called their spiritual home. Immediately as he appeared, he started pacing back and forth, rising the clouds of fine ash in his wake. Finally, on his seventh or eighth round, he was joined by none other than prince Daemon Targaryen himself.
“What is it?” Demanded Martell without even bothering to say hello. “What’s wrong?”
Last edited by 42 (2024-06-13 06:15:53)
[nick]Daemon Targaryen[/nick][icon]https://forumupload.ru/uploads/001b/2f/0f/214/858515.png[/icon]
Daemon did his best to portray a nonchalant smile. "We might have a new addition to the family soon. There is another death among my descendants that I can use." He held a dramatic pause, leaving Oberyn enough time to recall all of his relatives that might have met a premature end before confiding to him that, "It is Rhaegar’s bastard. A boy of… sixteen or so. Lord Commander of Night’s Watch. Well, not anymore, of course."
If Daemon did not sound particularly upset about it, it was because he wasn’t. He loved all four of his children, his long-awaited sons and his beautiful daughters, and half of his eight grandchildren (especially the girl who named her son after him and the boy who conquered Dorne). Generations passed, however, and the ratio did not continue to improve.
"He should be here by now, but there is something… The Wall, this nasty thing, is interfering with me, I cannot see well. But there is something holding him. Maybe it’s the Wall itself. Maybe it’s R'hllor's priestess there. Maybe it’s his wolf – the boy was a warg." Rhaegar chose his mother for a reason. And there was an ancient, foreign magic in this Wall that repelled Daemon’s powers – It seemed to be built to consume all magic and not let it through. It was annoying, and it was the reason why he was so angry all day long. "I would need to burn him personally for the resurrection to work in any case. Would you fancy a ride to the Wall? I bet you were often threatened with it in life."
If, by any chance, the body of Rhaegar’s boy is taken to the other side of the Wall, Daemon might not be able to retrieve it. His grandmother Queen Alysanne visited the Wall on her dragon Silverwing and could not make her fly over it. Being a dragon as well, Drogon might refuse too. And Oberyn might fare better – and if he doesn’t, Daemon will get to mock him about uselessness of the Rhoynish blood he was so proud of.
Last edited by Fuego y sangre (2024-06-14 00:53:38)
Daemon dropped the first line of his dramatic speech, and Oberyn tensed instantly. Who? Whom has he failed to protect? While he was waisting his time in the desert with that delusional little girl and her lazy lizards, the lions had been crawling closer and closer to his family, and...
Daemon finished the sentence, and Oberyn felt an irresistible urge to punch the smug piece of shit. He exhaled slowly, forcing his fists to unclench. It took some moments. But then his rage sparked anew, when the words finally registered in his minds.
Rhaegar's. Bastard.
That ungrateful harpist, a sorry excuse of a man, had sired some bastards after all. It was not the fact that disgusted Oberyn, it was the circumstances. His legitimate wife, the precious flower of Martell's gardens, Elia, would be waiting all alone in that dreadful freezing keep, sick and exhausted from the insufferable northern weather, patiently enduring the madness of the old king, while that little pale brat...
"Wait," Oberyn had to stop himself before the chain of thoughts led him to the inevitable conclusion that all Targaryens were disgusting pests. "The Night Watch? Was not the new Lord Commander someone from the Stark family... some..."
Bastard. The realization came momentarily.
"Oh, Stark, you sly son of a bitch," Oberyn sneered. Somehow, though, he did not feel angry at Ned Stark. The man had done a clever thing, probably for the first and only time on his life. And also he was protecting his nephew.
Come to think of it, Oberyn did not feel mad at the boy either. He never believed that children had to respond for the deeds of their fathers, otherwise he himself would have had to become a saint. Because he might have been many things in life, but he had never been a hypocrite.
"A warg? Does that mean that this boy can get into your head and turn you into a normal dragon being? Maybe we should not hurry so much to divorce him from his body then."
Oberyn chuckled.
"And, just so you know, I was not. It was the Night Watch which was always threatened with my appearance. But I've never found the time to go there. Pity. They say they have hairy elephants behind the Wall, should be quite a sight. Very well. I'll swallow something big enough to last for a couple of weeks and will wait for you at the hill behind the camp. See you in the morning."
With these words, Oberyn disappeared into the thin air to finally fall asleep with both parts of his being.
The next morning, as soon as the first rays of dawn caressed the earth, he was already coiled peacefully at the top of the hill, his belly stretched in a peculiar form of a full-grown stag with clearly visible antlers. Judging by the serpent's wide, content smile, they did not bother him at all.
Last edited by 42 (2024-06-17 23:49:38)
The dragon glared disapprovingly: he was growing quicky, surpassing the viper which allowed him to offer the ride in the first place, but the weight of a grown stag still made a difference to him. He picked up the snake regardless, and they headed out.
It was a long flight to the Wall, and though Drogon did not sleep, he took a rest couple of times: at a hill at the Crackclaw Point, in the mountains of the Vale. The last one he decided to make near the Wall so as not to arrive there exhausted.
Spotting stag banners of house Baratheon in the middle of northern nowhere was unexpected, but as soon as Daemon figured out who could be flying them here, he let out a threatening roar and descended to the center of the camp where the “king’s” tent stood. He shrugged off the snake and hit the tent with his tail. Some soldiers fired arrows at him, so he breathed fire back. A ragged gaunt man with black hair and blue eyes emerged out of the remains of the fallen tent with a sword in his hand. Drogon let the Baratheon see him in all his dragon glory and then opened his jaws and bathed the man in black fire. He was still screaming when Drogon started devouring him, deliberately chewing even though he could have just swallowed the man whole. Having finished with the meal, the black dragon picked up the viper and continued on to his way. He landed in a quiet place some leagues from the Wall and closed his eyes.
In the barren land of ashes, a stunned and shaken man (the one he devoured not long ago) appeared before him (whole again). Daemon slapped him on his face. No conversation was needed, he was ready to declare his judgement right away.
"Keep my niece’s name out of your mouth and to the Hell with you."
And, indeed, the hole opened in the ground and swallowed the man before he could give any coherent answer. Daemon did not need his answer. Long ago, in a moment of foresight, which, come to think of it, were not so rare to him in life, he had proposed to destroy Baratheons and Lannisters. It was, perhaps, a bit radical in his time, but many things would turn out better later if he had been heeded.
He had stopped long ago trying to glimpse what was down there. Sometimes it erupted fire, sometimes breathed icy cold – and he could not see anything else. And of Heaven he was granted even less knowledge. For all his trouble he would go there after he died, but there was a lot of work ahead before that could happen.
He closed his eyes and tried to search for the boy at the Wall.
"Yes. I can see better from here," he said, talking at the same time to Oberyn and to himself. "He should be dead, but his soul is tied to his body by magic. I suppose I can undo it. Simply burning the body should do the trick, you cannot tie anything to nothing. Though I wonder if his soul would revive in Rhaegal or Viserion if I let one of them eat him…"
[nick]Daemon Targaryen[/nick][icon]https://forumupload.ru/uploads/001b/2f/0f/214/858515.png[/icon]
Last edited by Fuego y sangre (2024-06-23 04:47:56)
The Serpent was not quite happy when, without a moment’s notice, he was dropped on the hard, half-frozen northern ground in the middle of something that could only be a Baratheon military camp. He hissed angrily first at the treacherous dragon and then at the soldiers who ran from him in blind horror.
The Serpent did not have Drogon’s unenviable ability to sense the presence of the cursed and mudded Targaryen blood, so he had not a single inkling why the dragon was suddenly so irritated and decided that attacking this camp and one tent in particular was the utmost priority.
It did not become any more clear when the Serpent finally raised his head and noticed the stag banner adorning this very tent. It looked like it belonged to a Baratheon general of sorts. There were not many Baratheons left - the fact that did not bring Oberyn any sadness - but there could still be a few offshoots of the lesser branches he did not know about or did not care to know about. The man inside the tent could be any of those.
He was not, however. As soon as the tall, gaunt man jumped out of the collapsing tent, sword in hand, grim determination on his face, the Serpent made a high hissing sound that verged on whistling. This was no mere general; this was the last remaining Lord Baratheon. Oberyn knew his face, although the old growler had always made a point not to be even in one room with the Red Viper, as if he were afraid the he could catch a disease simply by standing next to him. The disease, of course was called “the taste for life”.
Despite that, Oberyn had never held any particular grudges against the old dullard. He had not been the first and certainly would not have been the last thickheaded pious idiot in Westeros. And since he had never tried to shove his piousness up Oberyn’s throat in those rare moments when they happened to meet, Oberyn tended to forget about him as soon as the man left his sight.
What did the dragon have against him, though?
Incredulously, the Serpent watched Drogon catching the man in his formidable teeth and then chewing him with apparent satisfaction.
“What in the Seven Hells?”
He had to wait for several more hours, though, before he could finally ask the question. When he appeared in the ashen waste (it always took him more time than Daemon), the unfortunate Baratheon had been already condemned. Oberyn watched as the abyss opened under his feet and swallowed him whole.
“And what exactly was that?”
Yet Daemon, it seemed, were already occupied with other matters. Oberyn shook his head.
“You have just eaten a Baratheon, do you feel half-stag now?”
Last edited by 42 (2024-07-19 17:37:00)
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