Forbidden

Playing with the Gods

The celabrations begins. Jon and Dany are still very worried. An old friend (?) appears.

First Day of Celebrations

Dany have been ready sooner than she'd imagined.

As she waited for Jon, her hands gripped the cold stone, and her gaze roamed before her privileged view of the capital from the highest point of the Red Fortress, the tangle of ceilings and buildings gleaming in the first rays of the sun that day.

The bells of the Great Sept were already ringing insistently, waking up all over Kingslanding, announcing that this day would be special, calling people to join the party for the tenth eighth day of the name of the Prince and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.

On the highest part of Maegor Fortress, no one had managed to sleep after what had happened in Rhaegar's room.

The flutter of wings. Strong and agile wings. And the roaring noise. Random and peaceful roars for those who knew it well. But for the people, surely the noises of dragons flying over the capital were the personification of the danger they posed. A more efficient way to wake up the capital without doubt. Fear surely awakens faster from sleep than the expectation of a party.

Drogon's wings were so big now, that the wind they moved tore apart completely countless houses if he flew low. Its shadow swallowed whole pieces of the capital. And it would cover inner villages if it flew over them.

The people of Westeros said their dragon was revived Balerion. They called him a shadow winged. Black demon. So many names, she no longer counted them anymore.

Dany had no doubt that he would rival Balerion one day. Another certainty that she had was that she would no longer be there to be able to contemplate Drogon's greatness with her own eyes when that day finally came. Drogon was still young. Balerion lived and grew for two centuries. Her great grandchildren would see him at the height of his power. Not her. No, Jon. Not her children.

Dany stared at the three dragons circling the city skies, Drogon isolated, while Stormfire, the coppery dragon of Rhaegar and Khaleeth, the olive-colored dragon of Lyanna dipped and danced glued to each other, fast and fast, far from the Older dragon.

For so long the sight of three dragons had been all she called children. She had lost two of them. But she had won two for real. Not of fire. But of blood. From her and the man she loved.

Losing two of her dragons had been painful. Very painful. But now she understood that that pain would never even resemble the pain of losing a real child, no matter how

precious her dragons were. And she could have lost Rhaegar. She could be crying under his son's body if it weren't for those wolves. And that had taken her sleep. It had taken her peace. She would have killed with her own hands the man who had tried to do that.

Jon hadn't even questioned Arya's idea of letting the dragons free during that day. He, always so careful about anything related to dragons. Ever pragmatic about the danger they posed. Always the voice that thought of the people and the terror that the dragons represented to them.

He was hiding something from her. He knew of the threats she wasn't aware of. There was no other explanation. If he was willing to use the dragons as intimidation to any attack that they could suffer during the journey to the septum, knowing what the reaction of the wolves would be if that happened, it was only because there could be a chance of an attack. Realizing that made her terrified inside. Soon her husband would be there at her side. Soon the children would join them. And they would take to the streets, as if nothing had happened.