THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

"When the Queen Met the Dragon"?

Just as her thoughts came to an end, Sitara, or as she now knew herself, Alicent, heard some hissing sounds coming from somewhere below. The sound was rougher than the smooth cadence of Parseltongue she was accustomed to. Her curiosity sparked almost instantly, and without a second thought, she picked up Sirion, who had been dozing nearby. The suddenness of her movement startled him, but he was just a baby—there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he nestled comfortably into her arms, already finding the warmth of his mother soothing.

To Tom, trapped within this infant body, his thoughts drifted. Despite the awkwardness of his new situation, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of pride. His new mother—Alicent—was powerful, strong, and courageous. True Gryffindor traits, but with a cunning edge he appreciated. He respected that. She may not be a Slytherin like him, but he could at least acknowledge that her strength was admirable. A smirk might have crossed his face if he could manage it, but alas, he remained the silent observer in this new form.

Alicent, on the other hand, barely noticed Tom’s contemplative gaze as her excitement grew. She held him securely but with a childlike spring in her step, her eyes darting around as she followed the mysterious hissing sounds. She had always been curious, eager to explore, and today was no different. Her mind raced with possibilities, her heart beating faster as the sound grew louder.

Tom's thoughts shifted, Why is it always with you, mother? One minute, we’re resting, and the next, we’re off chasing after some strange noise. He couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued, though, especially when he realized it was some variation of Parseltongue. He could understand it, even if the tone was different—rougher, more primal. His tiny head shifted upward, his infant eyes wide as he tried to make sense of where they were heading.

Finally, Alicent reached a clearing, her heart thudding in her chest, not with fear, but with the thrill of discovery. The hissing had transformed into something more distinct now—words, though rough and guttural. She paused, her breath hitching when she recognized a familiar rhythm. Dragon speech, she thought, her eyes widening in excitement. The memory of the Ironbelly dragon from Gringotts flashed in her mind. She had communicated with it once, during the hunt for Horcruxes, using this very language.

Tom shifted slightly in her arms, sensing her change in demeanor. A dragon, he thought, the realization stirring something in his chest—perhaps anticipation, perhaps some residual instinct from his previous life. His dark eyes flicked back up to Alicent, who was clearly energized now, her excitement almost palpable.

"There must be a dragon nearby," Alicent whispered, her voice breathless with the thrill of adventure. She looked around quickly, her gaze sharp, until it landed on a sight that stole her breath. A majestic, red-scaled creature loomed before her—a dragon, but not quite. No, this one seemed... different. It resembled more of a blood wyrm, its long serpentine body coiled as it muttered to itself, unaware of her presence.

Tom’s sharp infant ears caught the rough hissing. “Stupid humans, where is my dragonling? Where is my white-haired dragonling?”

A white-haired dragonling? Alicent’s mind raced, A Targaryen, perhaps? She knew of Rhaenyra’s dragon, Syrax, and of course, Balerion the Black Dread was long dead. Wild dragons roamed Westeros, but from the look of this one—wounded and battle-scarred—this was no wild dragon. No, this was a war dragon, and it was agitated.

Tom’s tiny hand gripped Alicent’s robes a little tighter as the hissing grew louder. Great, we’re now in the presence of an angry dragon. And here I thought being a baby would give me some peace.

Alicent, without missing a beat, allowed a small thread of her magic to flow out, just enough to reach the dragon, hoping to calm it. The dragon’s head whipped in her direction, its glowing eyes narrowing, causing her to stiffen. She took a cautious step back, holding Tom tighter, but her eyes never wavered, a determined glint in them.

The dragon hissed again, this time with more recognition in its tone, “magic ling of old Valyria...“Like the ones grandma Vhagar tells us about.”

A flicker of amusement danced in Alicent’s eyes. Valyrian? Her? But she kept her voice steady, slipping back into Dragonspeech. “Yes, I am a magical being, but I don’t know what you mean by old Valyria.”

“Come closer, child. Come closer, magic ling.” The dragon’s hissing command seemed more like an invitation than a threat.

With a childlike gleam of excitement, Alicent grinned and approached, her steps light and quick, ignoring Tom’s quiet, skeptical gaze. She could feel his silent judgment, and she stifled a laugh,You always find yourself in the strangest situations, Tom thought, watching with wide eyes as the dragon lowered its head toward them.

As Sitara approached, Caraxes lowered his snout and sniffed her. “Oh, you are Valyrian... I can smell it in your blood.”

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I’m magical, yes, but I’m from the British Wizarding World. Not Valyrian.”

“British?” Caraxes echoed, confused. “I do not know of this place called British.”

Sitara gently patted his snout, her mind racing as she tried to comprehend what was happening. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I am Caraxes,” the dragon rumbled proudly. “That is what my white-haired dragonling calls me.”

Caraxes. The name clicked into place in Sitara’s mind. This was Prince Daemon’s dragon.

The dragon seemed to sense her realization. “Yes, my dragonling. But where is he? He is reckless and wild, just as a dragonling should be... I must protect him, you see.”

Sitara couldn't help but smile. “He is quite reckless, isn’t he?”

Caraxes grumbled in what could only be described as a dragon's version of amusement. “Yes, reckless, dangerous and wild, as a dragon should be. But that other one—Viserys, they call him? He’s no dragon at all.”

Sitara’s laughter rang out, surprising even herself. “No, he’s... not quite like Daemon, is he?”

Caraxes huffed. “Too quiet, too soft. My dragonling says he should not even be called a dragon.”

“Well,” she replied in a conspiratorial tone, “your dragonling may be right about that.”

The red wyrm leaned into her touch as she scratched along its scales, letting out a low rumble of approval. “You scratch better than my dragonling,” it mumbled, making Sitara chuckle.

“You’re magnificent, Caraxes,” she said, her hand running down his neck.

“Magnificent?” Caraxes tilted his head. “No, not magnificent. Just Caraxes. But you, magic ling, you are mine now. I will boast to all dragons now, I met a magic ling of old Valyria afterall"

She laughed softly at the possessiveness in the dragon’s voice. “Of course I am, Caraxes. And this little one here, this is Tom.”

Caraxes peered down at Sirion, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Your little magic ling... I like him. He has the fire of a true dragon.”

Before she could respond, Caraxes nudged her playfully. “Come, magic ling, ride with me. It has been too long since I’ve flown with someone who truly understands.”

Sitara shook her head, regret in her voice. “I’m sorry, Caraxes, I can’t today. Perhaps another time?”

The dragon let out a disappointed rumble, lowering its head in a way that almost resembled pouting. “Very well... but you will come back.”

“I promise,” Sitara said with a smile, bowing her head respectfully. “I’ll come back soon.”

Caraxes nudged her again, this time with more affection. “Not magnificent dragon,” he corrected her one last time. “Just Caraxes.”

She laughed again. “Of course, Caraxes. Until next time.”

With that, she waved goodbye, and to her surprise, Caraxes mimicked her gesture, moving his large wing in an almost childlike wave, making her laugh as she and Sirion made their way back through the hidden passageways.

As they walked away, Tom’s small voice echoed in her mind, incredulous and a little exasperated, How do you always manage to find yourself in these situations?