A Song of Ash and Smoke | a continuation of A Song of Ice and Fire

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬

"Gīda, Nightbird."

Danaerys watched the small girl lay a chicken on the ground in front of a deep blue dragon, one the size of a direwolf. The little dragon chittered, stepping forward expectantly. 

"Ipradagon!" 

The dragon seized the chicken and dropped it aside, scorching it with a short burst of flame before swallowing the bird whole.

Summer's Valyrian was improving. They'd found a dragon for her, a feat many thought not possible. Afterall, she possessed no Valyrian blood - as far as anyone knew. Danaerys smiled, impressed with herself, and with the copper-headed child in front of her. Jaehaera stood next to her, watching silently. Her face had remained a mask of stone since the night of Tyrion's execution. She spoke very little to any person these days, except for the girl. Jae had spent tireless nights teaching Summer Valyrian, and countless days learning the arts of combat avoiding Danaerys. Still, she had not left. Danaerys could only feel gratitude for the seed of hope it granted. The wind whispered in the trees this night, as Danaerys stood at mouth of the dragon pit with the Stark girl. Grey Worm's armor scraped quietly behind her as he shifted his weight, and it reminded her that they were not alone - the peaceful solitude of the darkened skies above almost made her feel like they were. The dragon was a stunning creature. Though small, she had a row of spikes that crowned her imposingly and crept down the back of her neck. Her scales almost appeared sharper on the ends, the deep hues of blue seemed to match the midnight sky and glimmered as if the stars themselves had kissed each one. 

She thought once more of the seedlings. There was never any true evidence that they all were Valyrian. It could only be suspect, never fact, though Danaerys was entirely aware of the doings of her male ancestors. And they thought women could never rule - Danaerys could not think of any known queen who had germinated half her kingdom. Still, blonde hair and blue eyes could be nothing more than a Lannister bastard. Gods know Tyrion wasn't any better. 

Or maybe this girl was just different. She had fits. She often collapsed to the floor, twitching, her head drumming against Jaehaera's fingertips as she protected it from the stone tiles. She never made noise, though she occasionally soiled herself. It was pitiful and Danaerys did indeed pity her. 

Danaerys heard grass crunching softly behind her and she turned. Jaehaera was approaching, ever stoic. Danaerys almost felt as if there was something cold reverberating from her. There was an edge to the glance she shot Danaerys as she passed to stand next to Summer. 

Summer brandished another chicken and laid it before Nightwing. 

"Dracarys, Nightwing." Her musically high voice echoed slightly in the night. Her accent for the Valyrian was not at all developed. Despite the words she spoke, her voice possessed the flatness of a Westerosi accent. 

"Udrāzma zȳhon naejot dohaeragon," Jaehaera instructed dutifully.

Summer processed the words for a moment. Danaerys could see her tiny nose scrunched in concentration as she struggled to translate in her head. 

"Dohaeragon," Summer repeated. "Dohaeragon, Nightwing."

Nightwing shimmied for a moment before sitting and leaning forward on her front knuckles, with rapt attention on the girl. 

"Sōvegon." With that last final command, Nightwing stretched up and launched herself upwards into the sky and flew above in lazy circles. Summer watched her go up. The day Summer had met Nightwing, she had a fit only hours before. Jaehaera and Summer accompanied Danaerys to observe the smaller dragons and ponder on the risk of the girl failing to claim one. Then, unprovoked the girl had raised her finger and pointed to the sky. All she said was, "There."