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❛ sᴛᴏʀᴍʙᴏʀɴ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴀɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ
ɴɪɢʜᴛ ғᴜʀʏ ꒱


❝ DONT CALL [DRAGONS]
TARGETS. THAT'S BARBARIC ❞

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On the opposite side of the archipelago, Daenerys Targaryen's early morning also started with dragon fire— but in a much more controlled fashion. Because she was terrible at starting the fire by herself, she used Drogon's to light the embers in front of her so she could make breakfast. The spurt landed neatly on the tinder, which went up in flames. As she waited for it to get hot, she puttered around to prepare the oats for the porridge and plates for the table setting.

Unlike the Berkians who lived in the village, her mornings were quiet and peaceful, undisturbed by dragon raids or yelling Vikings. Out in the country, it was just her, her parents and their three dragons; there was no drama or disruption to their established routine. Her mother and father were out riding their dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal; she would take Drogon out later in the day.

As far as she knew, they were the only ones who actually rode dragons. Although they were far removed from village life, they still managed to get gossip in their small corner of the world and knew that the enmity between dragons and Vikings was alive and well. They even saw the damage done by Berkians firsthand when an injured dragon showed up on their doorstep looking for aid. (It seemed that every dragon had communicated with one another that, unlike the villagers, the Targaryens were allies.)

Daenerys knew that it hurt her parents to see the reptilian casualties, especially because of their long standing fight against such violence. It hurt her, too, to know that humans could inflict this kind of damage on another animal, especially one this. . . magnificent. She shuddered at the thought of what the Berkians would do if they got their hands on Drogon or his brothers. That was why they had the unbreakable rule of never flying near the village. She was quite happy to follow this decision after seeing what damage those people could do to a dragon the size of a Monstrous Nightmare. Drogon was the largest of out of the three and at least double the size of the biggest Viking boat.

By the time her porridge was ready, two shadows had fallen over the clearing. Her parents landed their dragons easily and slid off, both of them landing neatly on their feet. As Rhaegal and Viserion went over to greet their brother energetically, Ingrid and Randolf came over to join their daughter at the table. Out of the two of them, Daenerys looked the most like her mother: they both had very light blonde— almost silvery— hair, violet eyes, and pink, full lips. However, she had her father's shorter stature and willowy build.

"Did you have a good ride?" Daenerys asked conversationally as they began to eat their breakfast.

"Mmm," Ingrid said, swallowing her bite before she continued. "There was another dragon raid last night. We saw Berk up in smoke as we rounded the East side this morning."

Randolf nodded in agreement. "I used my spyglass to get a closer look. The sea stairs were still on fire even once the sky was light." He shook his head in disbelief. "I definitely don't want to meet the person who caused all that damage."

"How do you know it's just one person?" the blonde girl wondered, a bit more defensively then she'd intended. "There's a whole town full of people, not to mention countless fire-breathing dragons."

Her father raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "They literally fight fire with fire, Dany. There's gotta be someone careless enough to do all. . . that."

Daenerys noticed that this was always the way it was: her parents spoke as if they viewed the island from the dragon's perspective, with little care for the actual people of Berk. Because of this, she took it upon herself to try and help them see a more equal side. "Well, maybe they use the fire for something else. It is always dark out when the dragons attack— maybe it's to see their targets better?"

Ingrid gave her a disapproving look. "Dany, you know the dragons don't have a choice in the matter. It's the Vikings that are at fault here— and don't call them targets. That's barbaric."

She winced. "Sorry, mom. You know I didn't really mean it like that."

Silence fell between them— their differing views were a bit of a sore spot— until Randolf cleared his throat. "So, what do you plan on doing today?"

"I thought I'd check around the area to see if there are any dragons that didn't make it back last night. We've found one or two trapped in that cove before, remember?"

Ingrid stirred the remainder of her porridge with her spoon, inclining her head slightly at her daughter's suggestion. "Alright. But just remember— be careful. Even if you can survive a dragon's fire, you can still get hurt if you're careless. Wild dragons aren't like Drogon— and even then, he's still unpredictable at times."

"I will be," Daenerys promised, finishing the last of her breakfast in a few bites.

🏹🏹🏹

There was nothing better than flying, at least in Dany's opinion. The wind in her hair, the chill of the higher altitude contrasted with the great warmth of Drogon beneath her and the solitude of the open expanse of brilliant blue sky. Riding her dragon was the closest she could get to actually flying by herself: her secret, long-held wish.

Her parents had often said that she flew before she could walk; when she'd been little and Drogon had been the size of a housecat, they would circle the clearing only feet off the ground as the dragon emitted tiny roars. She took to flying as easily as some took to swimming or fighting; it was so intrinsically a part of her that she was, at times, more dragon than girl. Her parents speculated that she must have been a dragon in a past life as she was so in tune with the creatures.

Daenerys reclined against Drogon's warm scales, the heat of them bleeding through her fur vest and silvery dress. Her hands rested in her lap, clasped around her bow and arrows, which were her chosen weapons. She hardly ever used them except for practice because, even though she was a Viking, she was most certainly not a fighter. She had no dreams of becoming a warrior of legend or putting her name down as one for the history books. She was content to live in the sky with her head— literally— in the clouds.

Shaking herself from her dreamy thoughts, Dany guided Drogon closer to the ground once they reached the area of the cove. His large wings skimmed over the tops of the trees, each push of air causing the leaves to flutter beneath them. She leaned over his side, trying to peer over her leg to the ground below, but he had grown exponentially over the years and she couldn't see anything past the leathery tips of his wings. She directed him towards the ground where they crushed several large trees due to their landing, the once-sturdy trunks snapping like twigs under his claws.

Drogon helpfully lowered himself to the ground and extended his wing so she could dismount him and she slid to the forest floor with a soft thump. She gently patted him on the snout. "You know the rules, bud: no flying near Berk, but you have the rest of the archipelago. You can come back in a few hours, okay?"

The large dragon let out a breath of hot air in response, which blew her hair back from her face. She grinned at his reaction; she'd swear up and down that dragons understood every word they said— whether they listened was another story. With another great gust of wind, Drogon lifted himself into the air again, leaving a swath of felled trees behind.

Dany slung her bow and arrows across her chest and positioned them securely on her back before she crossed the newly made clearing and entered the forest on the other side. The cool darkness of the forest surrounded her after only a few steps. Sunlight dappled the forest floor and lush, green trees grew close together so that sometimes she had to reroute herself around them. Birdsong filled the air, which smelled of dirt and growing things. The leaves crunched under her boots and she was looking forward to taking them off as soon as she could; they always felt too restrictive when her feet wanted to feel the ground beneath them unimpeded.

As she walked, Daenerys looked around her surroundings for any signs of an injured dragon: broken branches, loose scales that had been knocked off and. . . she came up suddenly on a patch of dirt that cut through the foliage as if someone had reached down a large hand and scraped out the plants. It ran the length of the slope and disappeared over the other side.

She picked up her pace and followed it, stopping on the crest of the ridge to get a better look. The rest of the forest seemed perfectly intact and it was a moment before she caught sight of something that was definitely out of place: the remains of roped netting that had— probably— once held a dragon. She sucked in a breath at the thought that someone— anyone— could shoot at something so majestic, most likely injuring the poor thing in the process.

The blonde girl made her way down the other side of the slope and went to the cut pieces of rope to observe them more closely. She bent close to the ground and picked up one of the frayed ends. It was very likely that the dragon had chewed its way out of the trap, which she was relieved about; that meant it had a better chance of surviving whatever injury it might have— she was just glad that another Viking hadn't found it first.

Coiling the broken pieces of rope around her arm, she slung the remains over her shoulder, taking them with her to help hide the evidence that a dragon was ever here. She couldn't do much about the massive dirt patch or whatever else the crash had created, but that would at least look more natural than rope. She continued onward after that, keeping an eye out for any other destruction that a wounded dragon might have caused.

🏹🏹🏹

After following a couple of other signs— broken pieces of rock that had fallen from the boulder when the dragon crashed into it, another broken tree bent from unsteady flight— Dany found herself at the edge of a cove. It had high walls that were surrounded by rocks, which would make it hard for a hurt dragon to escape from.

A more cautious person might have felt trepidation or even fear at the idea of being in close quarters to such a creature, but Daenerys only felt concern as she confidently slid down the dirt trail that gave access to the cove. Squeezing past the last boulders, she thought that at least the dragon would have an easy time surviving here. There was a large, still lake that took up most of the area while the rest was covered with lush grass and wildflowers. Seeing this, Dany wasted no time in kicking off her boots to wiggle her toes on the springy ground. A few, sparse trees had taken root closer to the sides of the slope and a couple of boulders had tumbled down to make a perfect perch for a dragon— which is exactly where her quarry was waiting.

Although Daenerys could never be scared of a dragon (which did, perhaps, make the tale about the 'Targaryen madness' a bit true), her eyes widened at the sight of the all-black creature that watched her with brilliant green eyes. She'd never seen a Night Fury in person before, though her parents had told her tales about it. He was truly a beautiful creature with glossy midnight-colored scales and a small, compact body— so unlike Drogon's large, muscled build.

He remained crouched on his rocky perch as he continued to watch her curiously, without a hint of fear in his eyes. His long tail swung back and forth slowly and Dany was strongly reminded of a cat, crouched and ready to kill (but, at the same time, she knew that the Night Fury wouldn't harm her since she wouldn't hurt him.)

The blonde girl made her movements slow and purposeful as she removed her bow and arrows from her back, tossing them aside as proof that she had no intention to use them against the dragon. Then, she promptly turned her back on him and walked over to the edge of the lake to sit down. The thing was, dragons were largely like cats; when you first met them, the best way to earn some breeds' trust was to pretend like you didn't care about them. It was different for every dragon, of course, but Dany was even more skilled than her parents at earning a dragon's respect.

So, she pretended like she didn't feel the Night Fury's emerald eyes boring into her as she began to pick a few flowers within her reach. Her nimble fingers started to weave their stalks into a circlet, gathering more flowers into her lap as necessary. 

🏹🏹🏹

By the time she'd crafted herself a flower crown and bracelet, the Night Fury had gotten bored of waiting for her to acknowledge him and had crept off his rock. The dragon remained in a crouched, tensed position with his weight on his back legs and wings close to his sides. But, he was now only several yards away from where she sat by the lake, still watching her intently.

Dany had moved on from her flowers and had taken out a small block of wood from the pocket of her fur vest and a knife from her belt. Golden curls of shaved wood began to litter the ground in front of her as she carved away at the block.

Since Randolf was a carpenter by trade, he'd passed on his knowledge to his daughter. The blonde girl was a quick learner and she enjoyed working with her hands. While her furniture remained simple and sturdy, she'd found a hobby in carving figures out of the scraps of wood that were too little to be used for anything else. She mainly made dragon statues of the species that they helped heal, which her father would then sell along with his own creations. She had found that she was the type of person who liked to keep her hands busy, especially during conversations; she could focus more on what was being said when her attention was split, as contradictory as that was.

Soon, the head of a dragon began to emerge from the rest of the wood: slightly rounded, with narrowed, cat-like eyes and perked-up ears. She glanced over at the black dragon, who had moved closer yet again and offered the wood block to him. "See? It's you— or at least it will be. I've never carved a Night Fury, you know, so it probably won't be very good on the first try. I'll have to bring my sketchbook tomorrow and draw out your proportions first, then it will be better. I have carved cats before, though, so this shouldn't come out too badly. Once you get to know me better this won't come as a surprise, but I like making dragons the most. Their wings are the best part to carve since it really feels like I'm freeing them from the wood. . ."

Daenerys continued her monologue as she worked, enthusing happily about the dragons she'd met over the years. Although her parents did their best, she knew they got tired of her 'dragon-talk' as they called it. (But, she couldn't really blame them since they'd been there for most of her stories.) So, she often spoke to dragons as if they were her friends and wished that she had someone who would be just as excited as her to talk about dragons for hours. But, she could make do with the dragons since they were good listeners, they never interrupted and they didn't make fun of her for liking them so much.

🏹🏹🏹

By the time she had freed her attempt at a Night Fury statue from its wooden block, the sun was setting. Brilliant colors of gold, purple and pink were thrown across the sky as she stood and brushed the shavings from her dress. Dany held up the figure critically, her lips pursed with displeasure. "The head is too big. Plus the wings probably aren't right, since I never actually saw yours. And the tail. . ."

She trailed off, looking at the dragon's missing wing sadly. While her sculpture was uninjured, it wasn't true to the Night Fury in front of her. With a sigh, she reached her arm backwards and chucked the statue into the lake with a small plop!

"I'll try again tomorrow," she promised the dragon, who looked up at her with round, green eyes. The suspicion that had been in them earlier that day was gone, now replaced with interest.

She gave him a soft smile and reached out her hand towards his snout with a flat palm. There was a moment of stillness while the Night Fury considered how to react to her gesture until he decided to rear back and bound away. Daenerys only shook her head at the dragon's antics as she thought, tomorrow. I'll try again tomorrow.

A/n: Someone: "how many times did you use the word 'dragon' in this chapter?"

Me: Yes.

I did a control f  to find out, and the answer is 53 (with this a/n, it's 55, lol.) I probably use 'dragon' well over 500 times throughout the whole first act 🤣. Anyway, I wanted to explain the "Dany going barefoot thing" since I know Berk is supposed to be bitterly cold all year, so it might be a little unrealistic that she will be doing it so much throughout the series. But, I think it would still be possible since the Vikings that we see hardly ever actually wear coats, even when it's snowing— Fishlegs is even in a sleeveless shirt the whole time! And second, this part I am taking from GOT: canon Daenerys is comfortable in very hot temperatures, like in the first scene she's in when she gets in the bathtub, so I imagine that she runs warmer than a normal person. This Dany will also have that ability, which is why she can go barefoot in the cold; I think that her higher body heat would make up the difference.

This is one of the AuDHD traits that I'm trying to portray her with, which is high sensory reliance/issues, as this is what I have (I think I'm more just ADHD, although I haven't been tested— I do have quite a few of the major symptoms though, I think. Time blindness, hyperfixation and lack of motivation to start things being a few of them.)