Dragonstone was a place of wonders.
Tall and grand, with numerous dragons carved into the towers, claws wreathed in stone flames, their mouths opened in a grimace. Some held torches in quiet solace, others stood tall and proud, others still kept their eyes on the gates, silent watchers. Enormous wings and tails formed entrances to the grand doors, led to seemingly endless stairs ascending to the top of towers, Jon watched them all.
There were other creatures, too—basilisks, demons and griffins, wyverns and minotaurs, among many more. He stared at them a little longer before three live dragons caught his attention as they let out a cry, circling around their home in grandeur.
There was only one on dragonback, and Jon squinted his eyes and shielded his gaze from the sun to spot the rider, her pale hair loose and long, flying upwards as she descended. The dragons, in unison, let out an earth-shattering scream, making him step back, uneasy.
Can they smell fear? Jon asked himself. Not much scared him anymore, though. He had experienced death itself and lived to tell the tale, but though he had wished for dragons, he hadn't actually...expected to see any.
He took a step back, giving wide berth for their great wingspans, trying to keep his face as passive as possible.
"In time for your coming," she smiled as she jumped down from the largest of the three, unruly and scaled black-and-red. His eyes reminded Jon of Ghost, molten crimson pits that shone when the sun caught them in the right moment.
"Indeed, Your Grace," he gave a courteous bow. You are a welcome sight. The young queen was as lovely as men have said, her with the blood of Old Valyria. She was dressed in riding breeches and a flowing top in the colours of her House, the shoulders covered in mock dragonscales.
The dragon she rode the back of gave another roar before he spread his wings and took to the skies. The cream-and-gold one followed suit, the force of their heavy wings kicking up dust and loose grass, leaving only dragged imprints of their claws in the soil.
"Look," she motioned behind him. Her violet gaze fell upon an immense dragon that basked in the rays of the sun. He was curled as if in rest, but his eyes were open and he stared, pools of burnished bronze fixed on Jon as if they were trying to peer into his very soul.
There was something familiar about him, though he had never seen him before.
"This one is Rhaegal." She scratched him under the chin, but still the dragon stared at Jon. "Come closer, Your Grace. Have my word that he will not harm you."
"Reach out your hand and let him smell you."
Jon pulled off the glove of his burned sword hand and spread his fingers apart, spying Daenerys' eyes lingering on his scars. The great wyrm extended his neck to rest his snout against Jon's palm, smoke from his nostrils as he huffed warming the king's hand almost uncomfortably.
Rhaegal leaned back, giving a growl of approval before returning his head to the grassy ground, and Jon gave a flex of his hand.
Her hand was back on the dragon, running over his armoured flesh before finding an empty space between his limbs, sitting down.
"He's named after my older brother, Rhaegar," there was a sadness touching her once-jovial voice. "Ser Barristan tells me men all over the Seven Kingdoms loved him."
He had heard of him, of course. He had supped with and learned from the armourer who forged the weapon who crushed the life from him. Lord Eddard Stark would not speak of him, no more than he had of his mother, but he had heard good things of him.
Does she think of what could have been, if her brother had lived? He wondered. He thought of her flying in the sky, seeing the world in a way few else ever would, thinking it invigorating...but lonely. Does she imagine him riding beside her?
Does she take strength and inspiration from his memory, as I once had The Young Dragon? As I do mine own family?
Jon wondered for the first time of what the long-gone man was like, the crown prince. He was curious to know if he was anything like the dragon queen. He wondered what his lord father's sister, the Lady Lyanna was like.
He wondered a great many things.
He shook his head—it doesn't matter now, he chided himself. They were gone, and all that was left was the two of them, encased by a wing and a giant tail of a dragon. A breeze blew through his hair, locks floating effortlessly in the wind. He put his glove back on, plopping down beside the queen.
"I have never seen him behave that way before. Rhaegal seems to be quite taken with you," the little queen smiled, running her hand over the side of his belly, stopping at a horn that claimed the space between the two of them. "Dragons may be lonely without a rider. Are you here to claim him for yourself, brave King in the North?"
That was not something he had pondered. Jon stood again, careful to step over the smooth black claws sharpened to natural blades.
The grey of Jon's eyes found the dragon's bronze and held it for a moment, then he found Dany's, a slow smile brightening his long face.
"No, Your Grace," he let his smile widen, his joy flavouring his words. "I'm here to claim your hand."
Her head bumped the side of Rhaegal's body as she threw her head back to laugh. "Is that so!" Her giggle died down. "I will grant your request," the grin was still plastered on her face as her voice dropped to tease, full lips tinged with secrets untold, "only if you take Rhaegal to the skies."
Inspired by [this post] by @tatticstudio55, it's such a beautiful piece of art that I couldn't resist 🥰
