He dove toward the window of his room. He looked at his own naked body from the waist up. Dany looked like she was about to cry as the flames burned more and more intensely. The feeling was strange but strangely familiar. The body wasn't his, but he understood it perfectly.
With the body of his eagle, he descended and dug his claws into his human chest, right above the sacrifice rune. As if it were his hand, he closed his claws. The three front claws closed together, forming three lines that converged at the same point. He had to move away to dodge the blow his body unleashed.
He looked proudly at the three red lines. But one was missing. The heat in the room became unbearable. He hoped the eagle would get scared and fight back. But it lunged again. He had never felt so bad about having such a strong body. He barely managed to dodge it. He looked at Dany. The girl had brought her hand close to his chest, her index finger touching the nail where the three wounds left by the eagle's claws met. His body did not react to her touch; he just stared at the fire. But he can see his hands trembling.
Whatever was taking his body didn't want to hurt her.
Daenerys dug her fingernail in and, with a single scratch, made the last line. A primal rune ᛉ was engraved on his chest in blood. The wounded blood glowed a dark red, so similar to the sap of the arcians that he could have mistaken it for it.
The eagle flew out the window, and seconds later, it watched the flames consume the entire room. But he no longer shared its eyes. The last thing he remembers seeing through the eagle's eyes was a red star splitting the sky.
He returned to his body with a jolt. He felt heavier, and his chest was on fire. With a quick movement, he kicked the book of runes, which had fallen to the floor during the possession. The book slid to the door leading to the makeshift courtyard.
The walls were brick; they wouldn't burn, but he didn't trust them not to melt. He looked at his wife, the flames dancing on her naked skin, avoiding burning her.
'Unburned.' He thought.
She would be fine. He took the jar of sap and, smearing it on his fingers, began to inscribe the wall and door with the runes Tyr and Elhaz. He wanted to protect his Solar room and everything found within it.
He had seen magic before. But now he felt it. He felt the wall harden.
Finally, the fire melted the clay jar in his hand. The red liquid dripped onto the floor.
He felt Daenerys' embrace. Inside the fire, it was somehow cold. The princess's hair burned. She moved a few inches away from him.
It was a crazy sight if anyone could see them. Both of them were in the flames, the flames just touching their skin without causing them harm and dancing around them.
He had been burned before. Once, as a child, he touched a red-hot piece of coal. He cried in pain, but he healed without any scars.
This?
What was this?
Magic.
His wife looked beautiful. Her skin contrasted with the fire in a way that made her look like a fire goddess; her purple eyes glowed unnaturally, her pink lips were moist, unaltered by the flames.
Had she always been this beautiful? Was it the fire around her that made her so desirable? Their clothes had been consumed, and only their naked bodies were visible.
The furniture in the room was burning, and toxic smoke began to billow from it. But they were unaffected. It wasn't logical, but when had magic ever been logical?
It was impulse or desire, a mixture of both. He should have taken his wife and left the fire, but no, there was something he had to do there.
They approached each other, dazed by the reflection of the other.
It began with a kiss and ended with them joined together, just as they had been on their first night, and many others that followed. They were husband and wife: a man and a woman.
They were two dragons mating.
With no bed or furniture, he ended up taking her on the wooden floor. Even when the wood charred, they felt no pain, only the ash breaking under their weight.
Ros, Sansa, none of them had ever made him feel so good. Even when he had both of them at the same time, it was nothing compared to this. It wasn't just physical pleasure; it was something more spiritual. He could feel the magic around them vibrate with joy every time their climax were in sync. Their passion fueled the flames.
He split his seed inside her three times.
After the third time, the flames vibrated like never before; the wood on the floor was gone, and the walls looked as if they had been victims of dragon fire.
In a way, they had been.
Then, as she curled up on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, they heard them. Soft crackling sounds. Then moans, like an animal fighting.
They both felt claws climbing up their bodies, but neither moved. Their bodies remained entwined, their souls repeating the action. The peace among the flames was something they had never experienced before. They had never felt so at home as they did at that moment.
How much time had passed? Minutes, hours, days? There was no time when they made love, only him, her, and the magic.
He looked at a crowd of men near where the door should have been; the flames had melted the brick. They were brave men, but not stupid. The fire died down, and the men were finally able to approach. Jaeherys was forced to pull out of her and noticed that there was no trace of his seed between the princess's legs.
'Three dragons,' he thought. 'One life for a life... three.'
The fire took his seed three times.
With that last thought, he used his body to cover his wife's modesty. Even if the men were loyal, the princess's body was not for their eyes to feast on. He looked to his right. The wall and the door to his quarters were intact, only darkened by the smoke.
Torrhen handed him a cloak, which he used to cover her and the dragons.
'Dragons,' just a few hours ago, they were talking about trade, and now they had brought dragons out of the stone. He looked at his wife, and when the flames subsided, her body was covered in ash.
He heard the murmurs of the men as the dragons climbed out from under the cloak. The three eggs had given birth to three majestic dragons.
The first was jet black. When the sun touched its scales, they shone a dark purple, like obsidian. It had two horns where the purple color was most evident. Its eyes were like molten silver.
The second was an auburn color. Two small protuberances adorned its head. He watched as the color changed on its horns, revealing a steel gray. Its eyes were green like emeralds.
The third was silver. Jaehaerys remembered Daenerys' hair just by looking at it. Its horns darkened slightly; they weren't two, he counted eight, even if they weren't that larger than the other two dragons had. Jaehaerys thought they assembled a crown. Its eyes were black with red veins like two burning coals.
They were just as they were described in the books.
Elongated and with two hind legs. Its wings were membranous, similar to those of bats. Its necks were elongated. Despite having the same characteristics, they were not identical.
The black one was the widest and had the thickest wings of the three, and was shorter than the red one. It also seemed temperamental, like an angry old man who was annoyed by the sun beating down on his body.
It blew smoke from his jaws as he looked at the crowd around him, as if they were unworthy of his presence.
The red one was the thinnest and longest, although its small size made it unremarkable. Its wings were also the smallest of the three. It seemed frightened, and as soon as it saw the people, it returned to Dany's cloak.
The silver one had the largest wings. Its body was not as vast as the red one's, nor as long as the black one's. It looked Jaehaerys straight in the eye, without a hint of fear. The prince even felt it smile at him. The dragon looked at the men and moved from Dany's body to Jaehaerys's so it could see them. It seemed curious about these beings.
"My prince," said the men around him. The northerners and southerners knelt before him.
"Hail Jaehaerys Targaryen," said Torrhen.
"Hail Daenerys Targaryen," said Brandon.
"The ones who bring the Dragons back," said a southerner with unbridled devotion.
He touched his chest. The Elhaz-shaped scar was now a few thick red lines. It hadn't healed like a normal scar; no, magic pulsed through it, close to his heart. Thinking about the god who had tried to kill him filled him with hatred.
'The dragons are back. But I'm still alive, and that must piss you off, R'hllor,' he thought with satisfaction. He could feel something new in his body. Maybe the fire resistance was permanent for him.
Then he thought sarcastically, 'I wanted to industrialize this world, and now I have to fight a god.'
Jaehaerys didn't think he could simply use his staff to kill a god in a fight.
He will kill him, as many gods have died before in his last life.
Made the people lose faith in them.