Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking93.75%

[45] Dragon Ride to the Riverlands

Chapter 45: Dragon Ride to the Riverlands

—

We soared beneath a sky of countless stars, the chaos of King's Landing fading to a glittering blur far below until it totally vanished as minutes turned to hours,

Sansa's arms wrapped tight around my waist, her cloak snapping in the wind, her breath ragged but steady over time. She held me tightly; honestly, it was fun to be held like that. I was sure she wasn't even aware of it. My wings pounded against the cool night air, and each flap made me more familiar with flying, though the muscles in my back ached with every push. I couldn't go on like this forever. I had to train on these new muscles.

By dawn's first glow, I knew we had to land—daylight would make us more visible to people. More than that, my back hurt like crazy. My gaze fell on a quiet meadow near a winding stream, its tall grass swaying in the early light. With one final beat, we touched down, the dew spraying in silver arcs. As I let Sansa go, she stumbled, eyes unfocused.

"My head's spinning," she muttered, stepping away from me and swaying on her feet.

"Need help?" I offered, reaching for her waist again. It was a firm thing.

"Uh," she half-swat my hand away with a flustered look. "I—I'm fine."

She steadied herself while I shrugged and folded my wings with a low ripple of magic. The membranes sank into my back, leaving nothing but smooth skin beneath my cloak. This was an evolution I was still getting used to. It felt… right. Magical. I was becoming a dragon, but I could choose to hide the features. No trace of them remained except the dull ache in my shoulders.

A moment passed as we looked around, and Sansa seemed unsure how to break the tension. I cleared my throat, rummaging through my [Inventory] to retrieve a small hatchet and some provisions. She blinked as I did that, although she'd seen it once in action before.

Soon a small fire crackled between us in the meadow's hush, and I used the meager supplies I'd stashed—some dried meat, a few wrinkled vegetables—to craft a modest meal. My inventory wasn't endless, so I couldn't hold too many things in there. Sansa watched in stunned silence until I extended a handful of food her way.

"Oh… Thank you," she said quietly, lowering her gaze as she took a bite. We ate silently for a while, and then, her eyes flicked back to me as she whispered, "Is… is it alright if I ask questions?"

I arched my brow. "Ask away. I'm not a bore like Stannis Baratheon, don't be so hesitant." A smirk tugged at my lips, and she let out a soft, uneasy laugh.

She gestured vaguely at my back. "You disappeared for so long, and now you have… wings? You carried me across half the sky, but I still can't believe it. Are you still human?"

I turned the spit over the fire, letting the savory aroma swirl around us. "I spent years in Essos after fleeing Westeros with my baby sister, surviving mostly by wits and luck. People mocked me as a beggar king, and they took advantage of me along the way. They thought I never noticed, but I was just too helpless to say anything back. Those same people are crawling to me now as I've become more than a mortal man." I paused, dropping my gaze. "To be fair, I can't blame them for looking down at me before."

Her expression softened, sympathy brightening her eyes. "It's not alright to look down on anybody, don't say you can't blame them. You should. I… used to think you were just the Targaryen prince who sold his sister for an army, for those are the stories that reached my ears. My impression of you was horrible like you were a piece of trash. But after you saved me, and as I realize what you went through…"

I shrugged. "It's not entirely untrue. I did hand Daenerys to Khal Drogo, but it wasn't that simple. My father's crimes condemned our entire house, and we had no allies. You can blame me for it, but I doubt you can propose a better idea. And I doubt you realize how hurt I was. I know you people see incest as a bad thing, but to us Targaryens, my sister wasn't just that. From childhood, I dreamt of ruling the realm with her by my side… Imagine selling off someone like that to a barbarian," I forced a faint smile.

This wasn't a lie. Before I'd awakened these memories, Viserys didn't enjoy making that decision. He just had no other choice. No, speaking of choices, the marriage idea was proposed to me by Illyrio Mopatis… I'd wondered this before, but did Young Griff exist in this world? If he did, it'd make a lot of sense.

Perhaps it'd been all a part of Illyrio's plans. He manipulated the pre-Viserys into selling off his sister and future bride. Somehow, that realization made my forehead cool, and my blood boil.

"I'm really sorry…" Sansa said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I shook off the rage and smiled, "Anyway, that's all in the past. As for the wings, they are just one part of what I've become. My… draconic side, so to speak. I'm unsure if I am still fully human or not, but rest assured, I am human enough."

Her gaze flicked down. "Draconic side," she repeated as if tasting the words. A man who had become a dragon. Even this young Sansa understood the implications of that. Then she exhaled softly, clasping her hands over the blanket. "I'm sorry you had to endure so much—because of what your father did. You and your sister didn't deserve such things."

I smiled, looking up at the sky, and sighed. Then I nodded, stirring the small pot with my makeshift ladle. "We have time, Sansa. I promised to bring you to your brother, but the journey won't be quick. So if your curiosity itches, keep asking. Better to talk than brood in silence."

She smiled, "Sure thing, Prince Viserys," she said, and I ignored how she didn't call me Your Grace. She'd seen others refer to me as that, but she chose not to. We spent a while swapping questions and answers, Sansa's voice growing more natural once she realized I wasn't about to lash out and that this wasn't a trap. I teased her about her formalities, and she teased me about my supposed arrogance. I didn't think I was arrogant, but she didn't agree.

The talk was… surprisingly pleasant.

But like all good things, it came to an end. Eventually, a new tension slid across the camp. I looked up at a rustling in the tall grass. Four ragged figures emerged from the thicket, eyes sunken with hunger. Their clothes hung off them, bones pressing against too-thin frames. My fingers brushed the hilt of my sword, uncertain if this would lead to violence.

They shuffled forward, desperation in their eyes. "P-please, Ser Knight," one croaked, eyes on the simmering stew over our small fire. "We mean no harm. Just… hungry."

Hungry, they say, I didn't doubt them. They looked on the verge of dying from starvation. I'd say even Sansa could defeat them in this state. They meant no harm.

Before I could decide, however, Sansa spoke up, her voice shy but firm. "Let them have some," she said, glancing at me. "We'll be leaving soon anyway. Plus, we'd have a lot more food once we reach Riverla—" She froze, realizing she nearly revealed our destination aloud. My warning look made her flush. "I—I'm sorry."

I sighed, turning to the men. It didn't matter, even if they heard it; they were just hungry men. "Fine. Take a bowl." I ladled out a portion of the stew, handing it to their trembling hands.

In the next few minutes, they devoured all their portion with greedy urgency, uttering choked words of thanks before shuffling back into the shadows of the trees.

Once they'd gone, Sansa released a breath she'd been holding. "Once again, I'm sorry for slipping, and… Thank you for feeding them," she whispered. "It was a good deed. I think you're a far better King than Joffrey already."

I only nodded, stifling the pang of worry that we might've just raised suspicions. But part of me admired how she refused to let fear bury her kindness, even if it risked everything. A King should be ruthless, but a Queen could be kind.

We'll just have to be careful. But I'll admit, I like her. I noted as the sun climbed higher, warming the meadow. I doused the fire and packed our meager supplies.

****

Yet, it seemed fate didn't judge Sansa as kindly as me.

Half an hour later, my suspicions showed up in the flesh. "How annoying," I sighed as Sansa followed my gaze. I saw those same ragged men skulking back through the tall grass, only now they weren't alone.

A handful of guards in mismatched armor trailed behind, clutching weapons with tense but ready grips. A calloused finger pointed straight at me. "That's him," the leader of the hungry men rasped, his voice thick with guilt and triumph. "They're the ones traveling to Riverlands."

"Oh, the Seven, why…" Beside me, Sansa looked betrayed as she looked at the men. I shook my head while she looked at me, biting her lip. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her head lowering beneath my look.

"Whatever. Use this as a learning experience," I exhaled, trying not to let the knot in my chest tighten further. So much for kindness. Stepping around our dying campfire, I let out a tired grunt. "I suppose there's no helping it, then."

I didn't bother to unsheathe my sword. No, I had a better idea. Without hesitation, I raised my hand sharply—calling upon the [House of Dragon] skill from within me.

It'd been a few days since my baby last fed; this was a fine meal. A flash of crackling air later, Viserion emerged in a swirl of hot breath and gleaming gold scales. Her roar shook the meadow, scattering embers from our half-dead fire.

Terrified gasps split the group of newly arrived guards. Sansa jerked back, eyes going wide. "W-what?!" She shouted, and I caught her elbow, anchoring her in place.

"It's alright," I said, and turned to Viserion. "Dracarys," I let out a cold sneer.

Flames consumed the clearing in an instant. Shouts turned to shrieks, then died abruptly in the blaze. Viserion lurched forward, fangs closing on charred forms with sickening finality.

[Your dragon, Viserion, has killed a human.]