Little Dragon - Game of Thrones

24

Krohln stared at it.

It stared back.

The little thing was beautiful. Maybe. He couldn't quite tell what from what anymore. Maybe this beast was simply mediocre compared to some fancy tattooed lizard someone had in their menagerie.

But he knew one thing. It was feared.

Well... This little... Worm, definitely wasn't feared.

Krohln drew a dagger, running a line down it's thin, newly formed leather wings. It cried. Krohln glared at the thing.

It was ugly, in his opinion. Dark. Slimy. Massive head, with these little tiny wings, and a big fat tail. It definitely couldn't fly. It spit out a pathetic glob of hot regurgitation. Maybe it was trying to breathe fire on him.

With a swift motion, he took the baby dragon in his arms. It cried, kicking into his ribs with little feet that hadn't grown proper scary nails yet, or any teeth.

He spoke in the tongues of Asshai, his voice high pitched and almost shrieky. The baby wailed, continuing to kick. He didn't stop, slowly twisting his dagger into the little dragon, rotating it so as to make a hole in it's chest.

Blood spurted out, a ridiculous amount of blood.

It wasn't long before the creature ceased.

Krohln continued his ritual, working his magic he had spent so many years perfecting on all the rabbits, dogs, cats, anything alive he could get his hands on in Asshai.

Soon, he felt the spirit of that little dragon seep into his own veins. It pumped in his blood, making his head spin. With an inhuman roar, he changed, taking to the black skies with one go. With this new power, he could control.

He could conquer.

---

Daenerys was quiet for many days after Lyla's death. Not only did they lose such a young girl for seemingly no reason, but they had lost the backing of an entire DRAGON. That wasn't something taken lightly in this situation.

She wondered if she'd ever get the opportunity to tell Jon about Lyla. The REAL Lyla. The one who was passionate, the one who flew across the skies for days and days because time and distance had no hold on her.

What surprised her most was how much it seemed to affect Drogon. The poor beast would cry out into the air, waiting, watching for Lyla to come near. It was a bond different from the one he had with Daenerys, but Daenerys still couldn't tell what.

A few days after they buried Lyla, Daenerys had to scold Drogon, for he had flown back to where she laid, and dug her body up to encircle her. Daenerys could hardly handle it all.

Drogon roared into the sky, then tilted his head upwards, ears waiting for the reply. Nothing. He scuffed the ground with his hind talons, huffing and shaking out his neck to rid it of the snow. His siblings didn't seem to notice anything different or off. But Drogon felt it.

The wind seemed to blow slightly East.