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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,535Kudos:6,016Bookmarks:1,658Hits:466,752
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 8: The cliff
Notes:
Ghidorah is Meereen/Dohtraki Drogon size during this. I admit I'm...bad at understanding travel times and trying to find info for Dany's journey is hard- it takes months for armies to move on foot and all her Unsullied are horseless and she's keeping a modest pace. GRRM himself has said he doesn't really give a shit worrying about travel time lol so I'm just assuming it takes months to march from each slaver city (like how it takes over a month to get from Winterfell to Kingslanding on foot) so yeah, that's the time jump between each city.
By the time they reach Westeros Ghidorah will get to be Balerion size, and here's a comparison between Balerion and Drogon and sum more, since we got that photo of Kit standing next to the skull prop and Lena by it and goddamn Balerion was huge, little wonder people crapped their pants when he showed up he big boi
Chapter Text
The outfit choice was reminiscent of her Dothraki garb; a mixture of horse leather and dark, tightly woven fibres. Trousers of woven fibres and leather flat soled shoes, guards for her knees and elbows, a long sleeved jerkin with leathered gloves for her hands. There was no loose articles to her clothing, everything snug and tight to avoid catching compared with her loose clothing choices of before. Daenerys' long silvery white hair was pulled back in a single utilitarian braid, the tiny bells woven in tight. She'd added a new one with the success of Yunkai's conquest.
Anxiety and anticipation roiled in her gut even if her face remained a serene mask. Missandei's hands were gentle but firm as the scribe finished tying the strip of leather in Daenerys' braid before stepping away. Her personal tent would be packed away soon, most of her space either her bed or the numerous books stacked within arms reach. Others were scrolls scribbled down with the logistics of her army, provisions or updates, of food or weapons or armour counts along with requests of supplies or audiences.
Daenerys brushed her hand against the nearest book stacked upon the table, with the title The Reign of King Viserys, First of His Name, and the Dance of the Dragons That Came After inscribed across the leathered cover. It detailed the life of Viserys I Targaryen, who had been the fifth Targaryen king to sit upon the Iron Throne and had been her deceased brother's namesake. Though from what she read this Viserys had been a kind and gentle man, as plump as he was pleasant and well loved by his people. He was the last rider of Balerion before the great dragon's death of old age, the only recording she had of a Targaryen dragon passing within sleep rather than being killed. It was of the greatest pity that his children would enact the Dance of Dragons soon after his death, when he left the realm in such prolonged peace and prosperity for them.
She'd used her ships to acquire more books of her family's history and that of Old Valyria, of dragons and their riders and of Aegon and his sister-wives and her numerous ancestors and their dealings throughout the ages in Westeros. Things she read in her scant time alone before retiring to bed, with her child by her side as she got into the habit of reading to him aloud. Ghidorah was longer than her entire personal tent now, so he would be coiled up like a cat with his necks and tails draped over one another. When he stood upon his hind legs he was even taller than her tent at the shoulder, a single tail alone being over twelve feet in length and fangs growing to the same length of her hand.
Some of his outgrown fangs she'd kept, taking them to one of the freemen blacksmiths following her army. It was discovered his fangs were fantastically resilient to heat, even the molten core of a forge. So she'd compromised with the blacksmith forging a wrapped wire hilt of either silver, bronze or gold; gold she'd gifted to Grey Worm, as his position as commander of the Unsullied. Silver for the officers and then bronze she gifted to her kos and Queensguard. The daggers were more ceremonial than anything, a sign of status among her followers. She even had one made to replace her origin tooth necklace, instead now wearing one of the outgrown teeth of her child around her neck.
One of the books she acquired claimed that some Targaryens were said to wear dragonskin armour, fireproof all but to dragonbreath. Daenerys wasn't too sure how accurate said book was but the same could be said for many of the stories about her family. She was alone, the last Targaryen in the world, and as such she would read and understand the books but also understand she had to forge her own path. To trust in her instincts just as when she lit the pyre in what seemed so long ago. Especially in regards to dragon keeping, a secret the Targaryens kept and seemed to pass along only by word of mouth due to the scant evidence left behind. There was some speculation, especially in regards to the Dragon Pit in Kings Landing and even the taming of the wild Sheepstealer but on the whole there was typically nothing regarding the bonding process.
It left Daenerys feeling somewhat unsure, especially since her child was not foolish. She already knew he was no horse and she wouldn't treat him as such. Their mental bond made that abundantly clear. Again, Daenerys wished there was another Targaryen, someone to discuss their blood and ancestral ties to dragons. Someone who could understand the link between them and who could share her burden.
So when she finally mustered up the courage to ask Ghidorah to ride him, four days after the defeat of Yunkai.
It was strange, directly asking him but it had become apparent Ghidorah could understand human speak even if he was unable to utter it. Usually when touching him it was if they were sharing stories, images and thoughts and feelings rather than words. It was disorientating at times, especially when she realized how shallow words were when it came to her mental connection to Ghidorah. So when she asked it was when she was once again reminiscing upon Aegon and his sister-wives, and about their dragons. She didn't know how Balerion truly looked but she pitched him as something massive and fierce, covered in spikes and horns and scales as black and shimmering like tar. And then Aegon, clad in splendid armour with silvery gold hair streaming behind him as he perched upon Balerion's spiked back. Ghidorah, as always, had been intrigued about the Targaryen dragons of old.
But when she finally managed to ask, to request that she take Aegon's place as Ghidorah would take Balerion's, her child took offence.
She'd been sitting among the cushions of her bed, books stacked around her feet with another open upon her lap. Ghidorah's heads had been resting upon the blanket around her, his bulky torso partially resting on the bed and his tails so long they stuck outside the tent itself. She'd felt the confusion and curiosity change to indignation. His horns flared out as he hissed simultaneously, heaving himself up from his sprawled position on the ground. There was a flurry of emotions but he pulled away so she was no longer touching the smooth scales of his neck, their connection broken as he rebuked her.
Nonetheless his offence was strong enough she flinched, nearly being knocked over by a wing as he twisted around and left her tent in a rip of fabric. Luckily enough the poles didn't collapse even if one nearly fell from his abrupt exit.
She fended off the concern of her guards at her dragon's abrupt exit and retired for the evening even if she barely slept. When Ghidorah still hadn't returned in the morning she was concerned, especially as she mounted her striped one as her army continued its march. Her bloodriders followed behind her and Daenerys was pleased that Rakharo's shoulder had fully healed, if not still scarred. Though that satisfaction was distant in her mind as, at the end of their daily march, Ghidorah still hadn't returned.
Ghidorah was prone to hunting his own meals so his disappearance wasn't brought up. Despite that Daenerys still felt unsure and almost ill- she hadn't the first idea how to start dragon riding so she worried she'd gone about it in the worst way possible. Perhaps she should've just tried hoisting herself up upon her back? No, she had a feeling that would've been even worse.
Despite his abrupt leaving she could still sense Ghidorah- a faint pressure at the back of her mind, giving her an idea of the direction he was in but nothing more. West, she'd thought. Towards the sea.
She tried not to brood upon it even if her council her noticed her distraction and, as the days past, Ghidorah's absence. There would be nothing to be gained from discussing it, Ghidorah had wings and searching for him would be for naught- he would appear or not at all. Ghidorah stayed close to her typically so his continued disappearance began to be noted even if Daenerys refused to answer any inquiries.
Again, she lamented her lack of family, her lack of knowledge for her history. Did Aegon face such worry when choosing Balerion? Was it the dragon who chose their rider, not the other way around? Mutual agreement? She had no idea and it left her worried and frustrated, which she tried to drown out with devouring her lessons with Barristan and running through the logistics of her army.
Then at the end of the week Ghidorah returned, smelling of the sea and salt.
Daenerys couldn't hide her relief- even as she noted he'd gotten even larger in simple seven days apart -when she saw his form flying towards them during the evening, his leathery wing membranes translucent with the sun above. She'd demanded an early halt, only three hours before they'd usually stop for the night, but Daenerys deemed it an acceptable delay as she spurred her striped one out to the grassy plain Ghidorah landed in. She dismounted when the zorse got nervous even as Ghidorah folded his long wings to settle up onto his hind legs, tails sweeping aside a nearby shrub.
She nearly stumbled over her feet to reach him, running her fingers over the ridges and scales of his snout when he lowered his heads for her to reach. She felt the brief sensation of waves and water before his mind regarded her seriously. It was still odd to her, to feel his mind against hers. Magic, stretching back to Valyria where her people were dragon lords. But she felt his forgiveness and that was what mattered, even if she couldn't understand some of his emotions. He simply didn't think as a human, which somewhat left Daenerys confused with what he was trying to impress to her.
It also gave her the uncanny feeling that each of his heads thought differently from one another- greatly similar but different nonetheless.
But another overriding image pushed that aside, the same one she'd given him before he'd left. Of Balerion and Aegon and how the two became the figures behind the Targaryen dynasty of Westeros in the stories she had told him. The black dragon upon their flag so all could know of the Black Dread and the silver haired king upon a throne of swords from vanquished enemies of shadowed flame.
Along with his acceptance of it. Of the reverence.
Daenerys felt a thrill shoot up her spine when she realized what he was offering. It was strange almost, to think Ghidorah 'needed time to think' much like any person. His mind saw things differently than her own or how humans but Daenerys reminded herself that just as she was learning so was Ghidorah. And her patience was being rewarded, that her request was being rewarded.
So with Ghidorah's agreement she made plans for herself, waiting the following day to enact them even if she barely slept with her excitement.
It was why she chose practicality for her outfit, already knowing Ghidorah's scales were increasing in density like a crocodiles hide and with spikes littering his back. Her handmaidens made no comment as they knew there was long rides but this time it was for a different beast. As such it was early morning as she left her tent, Missandei walking by her side as Rakharo and Barristan followed up the rear. The army was preparing to go back to the march, having already spent two weeks slowly but steadily making their way towards the city of Meereen to the north, the largest city of the slaver cities. It take some more time to reach Meereen but that was one of the side effects of having such a large standing army upon foot. Her horses were still limited to her little calvary and the stock.
Ghidorah was waiting for her upon the nearby cliff, overlooking the river where her three ships were moored, settled on his haunches with his golden scales glittering in the rising sun. His left most head noticed her first and the other two perked up as well.
A group of two dozen Unsullied were spread in a circle before the cliff, preventing the freedmen from approaching the dragon and as she walked past her kos and Queensguard who stayed at the perimeter due to a wave of her hand. They knew not to approach her dragon but her soldiers had taken to their perimeter after prior incidents of bitten fingers and broken bones.
Her army hadn't yet packed up the tents and gear and she knew it would most likely be an hour before so but she still felt nervous and unsure as she stepped next to her child.
Their connection deepened as she placed a hand upon Ghidorah's shoulder, the scales rough underneath her fingers. She leaned forward to press her forehead against his hide, feeling one of his muzzles brush against her hair as she tried to push through her appreciation and love to her child through what he was permitting her to do.
Then Ghidorah shifted, muscles making his scales ripple like coins as he settled down on his belly with his legs tucked against his sides like a cat. Even resting like that he was higher than her hip. Still, she was grateful it as she probably would've fallen off in front of everyone if she'd tried to climb up his tails. As it was she tried to ignore how the freedmen were quickly gathering around when they realized what she was intending; the circle of Unsullied deterred them from getting closer but she still felt nervous even if it was to be a monumental event. None in living had seen a dragon rider.
She figured falling off Ghidorah in front of everyone wouldn't be a good impression but she pushed that aside as she eyed Ghidorah's back uneasily. He was getting larger each day until it seemed like a lifetime ago when she could hold him in her hands. His back was lined with numerous black spikes the length of her finger, with the rows splitting into two as they converged down the back of his twin tails. His necks were as wide as the tuck of her waist with his back easily the width of five horse backs.
Off at the circle of Unsullied she heard Jorah's startled exclamation as her Queensguard realized what she was doing, realized her intent. Missandei looked shocked, golden eyes wide, while her khalasar hollered to their Khalessi.
Ignoring them with her expression determined, Daenerys placed both hands onto his shoulder in the gap between his neck and wing and hoisted herself up with a grunt. Then she crawled along scales until she could manoeuvrer around to be resting along the length of his bumpy back. She nearly slipped, even with Ghidorah's left most head nudging her along- his long necks were flexible enough he could easily twist upon them like a serpents.
On his back was three rows of spikes, the centre most being thicker and more dense that the other two bracketing it. She'd need to arrange herself carefully, feeling the spikes digging into her trousers until she managed to wedge a thigh between two of them to somewhat anchor herself in place. More spikes dug into her sides but she was small enough to not impale herself.
She settled on her elbows with her body lying upon his back, hands grasping the two spikes of his middle neck right before her. All three heads watched as Daenerys wrapped her hands around the spikes with her knuckles brushing against one another, fingers clenching as she tested her grip.
Through it all Daenerys made sure to push as much love and appreciation as she could through her bond with Ghidorah, at him permitting her to settle up on his back, at him permitting her to ride him.
Ghidorah arched his neck, rising up upon all fours while chatting out his warbling call. Daenerys could hear screams of excitement from those watching as Ghidorah turned to face the cliff, muscles rippling beneath golden scales as he gathered his strength. She clung to him like a bur, knuckles white against her skin and jaw clenched tight as euphoric elation roiled into her mind until she couldn't even think or breath.
Then he moved, great bulk surging as he charged forward before leaping off the cliff with her hanging tight upon the spikes of his back.
For one horrifying minute they seemed to plummet towards the water and jagged rocks below before golden wings cracked like thunder and the scaled body beneath her surged upwards.
Her heart felt as if it were about to burst, the tiny silver bells singing in her hair as the wind whipped past while the grassy cliff and river below fell away beneath them.
Yes, Daenerys thought, a brilliant childish smile crossing her face as she began to laugh with abandon, Yes, now, now, do it, do it, take me, take me, FLY!
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