99 AC / 54 HA (Hadrian's Ascension)
Daemon Targaryen
My imagination could never have reached the heights that reality now laid before me.
Here I stood, Caraxes beside me, watching the entirety of the Falling Stars scramble backward in the mud, desperate to put distance between themselves and the Blood Wyrm. The sheer glee on my face must have been visible to them, for they stared at me in a potent mix of abject fear and realization.
Yet, despite their terror, I could see that many of them were truly battle-hardened. They quickly regained their composure, and some of the veterans even began forming loose ranks, attempting to flank Caraxes and me.
Through all this chaos, two figures stood precisely where they had been. Marc and Ana had not budged an inch since their initial retreat from Caraxes' descent. Ana still carried that spark of curiosity, though it was now tempered, no longer the searing flame it had been moments ago. Marc wore a grim expression, staring me dead in the eye, his massive sword still drawn.
His false courage was admirable, but it was Ana who held my absolute attention. Only my kin could stand so unfazed in the face of a dragon. From the looks of it, she possessed dragon's blood, no matter how thinned. Perhaps she was a bastard born of that exiled Targaryen whore in Lys; she appeared to be the right age. She could even be a dragonseed. At the very least, she seemed to be striving to rise above her mother's station.
Caraxes began to rumble deep in his furnace of a chest as Ana started her approach. He was annoyed, irritated, and apprehensive. It must be the tainted blood in her not sitting well with him. I cared not. Even if she were a bastard, she was kin of the blood. A modicum of respect would do me no harm.
"Daemon, or shall I refer to you as Your Grace?" Ana asked, stopping a few paces away.
Caraxes lowered his long, serpentine neck protectively around me, his mood turning highly temperamental.
I offered her a wolfish smile in answer. "Daemon will do. I had no intention of hiding who I am. It was a jest on my part, and one I enjoyed immensely."
"I see the rumours of your capriciousness were not exaggerated," she noted, pausing to gaze up at the massive Blood Wyrm. "Still, I would appreciate it if you calmed your beast and assured my fearful crew of his docility."
"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor," I quipped back. A dragon is no slave.
"Skoros syt kostilus, yn is dārza," she retorted calmly. That may be so, but he does serve.
Fire in blood, indeed. Her hand rested casually on the pommel of her sword, which was likely the true reason Caraxes remained so violently agitated.
"Lykiri, Caraxes." Being surrounded by so many armed men did not sit well with him, but he took my word, grumbling in begrudging acceptance. He lowered his massive red wings and lumbered onto the ruined canvas of the broken tent, claiming it as his bed.
"Quite the brave one you are, Ana, to not cower in the face of the Blood Wyrm. Have you perchance met a dragon before?" I asked, unable to stave off my curiosity.
"I have never laid eyes upon a dragon before, save perhaps in scrolls. I stood my ground to bolster my men. That does not mean the beast does not unnerve me," she answered evenly, her hand never leaving her blade.
"Yet here you stand, guarded by a single man, mere paces away from a dragon. Undaunted," I challenged.
"Yet here I stand, trusting the man who saved my life not to turn around and reap it," she countered.
I chuckled at that. "Ana the Audacious."
A wry smile touched her lips. "Is that to be my title now?"
"Why not? It certainly has a nice ring to it," I said with a grin.
"I suppose it does," she accepted. "Now come. Let us retire to my tent. The night is dark and full of terrors." She cast a wary glance at Caraxes. "I trust he will not eat my men?"
"So long as they leave him be, he will do nothing," I assured her.
"So be it." She turned on her heel to face her men, raising her voice to a command bark. "Men! The dragon shall rest here while Prince Daemon and I iron out the details of his stay. Return to your stations. AND STAY AWAY FROM THE DRAGON!"
At that, the sellswords finally began to disperse. As we marched toward the commander's tent, a few of the veterans took up the chant, thumping their gauntlets against their breastplates. Ana the Audacious. It spread quickly through the camp. She shook her head in feigned chagrin, but I could see the faintest smirk on her lips. She enjoyed the epithet.
…
We entered the command tent. Like all things surrounding the Falling Stars, it was strictly modest; there were no luxurious Myrish carpets or plush featherbeds sprawled across the premises. There was little more than a sturdy wooden table, a simple cot, and a few rugged chairs. Considering I had never heard of the Falling Stars before today, the bare-bones camp confirmed my belief that they were a fledgling sellsword company with no real claim to fame.
Marc had followed us inside, his massive frame hovering protectively near Ana, shielding her much as Caraxes had done for me. I pulled a chair from the table and made myself comfortable, while Ana took the seat opposite me. Marc remained standing, a looming shadow at her back.
"Would you like some wine, Daemon?" she asked.
I nodded. She turned and shot a look at Marc, who let out a heavy, reluctant sigh before fetching a clay pitcher and two cups. He filled them both, sliding one across the table toward me before downing the other himself in a single, prolonged gulp. I quirked an eyebrow at the strange turn of events, watching as the giant sellsword dragged up a stool next to Ana and crossed his arms.
"No need for formalities here, unless you would prefer them?" she offered.