This is the 4th installment (3rd chapter) of my fanfic from the Fire and Ice series (cont. from D.R. I)
The prince glared at her, crimson beneath her scales. His violet eyes seemed to drink the light into them as he watched her. He sought for a rational way to dispose of the beast, but he knew that magic did not work on a dragon, not even if she were a princess born true beneath. He ran his hand idly along his chains of office as he considered his options. It was infuriating to think that he would have to surrender or be burned by a dragon...a woman impersonating a beast. As he thought of what he might be able to pull off if he could force a transformation, he found himself gazing in those dark blue-black eyes of hers. Windows to the soul they had said. Now he wondered...but it wouldn't help him unless he could find a way to make her concentration waver so badly that she couldn't hold her form.
There was the sound of naked steel, and no sooner did the blade leap into life, bearing the blackest flame, did the princess retaliate with a bone crushing slap of her tail.
The prince lay on the ground, and the dragon-princess towered over him, her thin face twisted in mute fury. She grabbed him visciously in her talons and soared towards her castle, flanked by her younger brothers. As they flew, she took in the decimated armies of the traitorous power-hungry Greyjoys. Axes, swords, and shields littered the ground and the scent of death and fresh blood filled the air. Already the carrion crows had arrived to feast on the dead as well as the dying. The three dragons landed on the battlements of the castle of their birth and one after the other, returned to their human forms.
She held her prisoner fast in her grip, aware of his one hope of overpowering her, a mere woman, and making a run for it. She put nothing past him, however, aware that he was maester-trained and had learned some of the arts forbidden to those of their order. She kept an eye on him, even as she watched her brother, Prince Quentyn help the youngest of them, who had slumped to the ground. Trystane was exhausted, she knew. Shape-shifting had always been one of the harder manifestations of his ability and it took all he had to maintain it for that length of time. Arianne smiled as Quen pulled his brother to his feet like a little doll. Then she remembered her prisoner, the Greyjoy's Trump card. They would not pay a ransom for him, of that she was pretty certain. Although it was common practice within the realm she doubted that they would honor it...and she also had her misgivings about keeping the princeling around their desert home of Dorne.
"Prince Maekar," The Black Dragon said to the young maester. "Why are you
doing this?" He looked at her, could barely make out the woman within the beast. He narrowed his violet eyes then. "The Targaryens, the dragons are gone. My mother, she was the last surviving child of the old king. Unless we count you of course." Even as a dragon the princess contrived to look mortified. "Youre going to eliminate us simply because we are blood relatives? It is more or less just an honorific," she told him. By now Her Grace was beginning to look put upon by this young prince who was half her age. She cocked her head in irritation and he noticed it. He smiled confidently but the certainty wasn't exactly there. She had been married to a Lannister for the last four or five years now and she had picked up a few things from him...like smelling fear. Lannisters were notorius for it, finding weaknesses and twisting them to their advantage. The prince glared at her, crimson beneath her scales. His violet eyes seemed to drink the light into them as he watched her. He sought for a rational way to dispose of the beast, but he knew that magic did not work on a dragon, not even if she were a princess born true beneath. He ran his hand idly along his chains of office as he considered his options. It was infuriating to think that he would have to surrender or be burned by a dragon...a woman impersonating a beast. As he thought of what he might be able to pull off if he could force a transformation, he found himself gazing in those dark blue-black eyes of hers. Windows to the soul they had said. Now he wondered...but it wouldn't help him unless he could find a way to make her concentration waver so badly that she couldn't hold her form.
There was the sound of naked steel, and no sooner did the blade leap into life, bearing the blackest flame, did the princess retaliate with a bone crushing slap of her tail.
The prince lay on the ground, and the dragon-princess towered over him, her thin face twisted in mute fury. She grabbed him visciously in her talons and soared towards her castle, flanked by her younger brothers. As they flew, she took in the decimated armies of the traitorous power-hungry Greyjoys. Axes, swords, and shields littered the ground and the scent of death and fresh blood filled the air. Already the carrion crows had arrived to feast on the dead as well as the dying. The three dragons landed on the battlements of the castle of their birth and one after the other, returned to their human forms.
She held her prisoner fast in her grip, aware of his one hope of overpowering her, a mere woman, and making a run for it. She put nothing past him, however, aware that he was maester-trained and had learned some of the arts forbidden to those of their order. She kept an eye on him, even as she watched her brother, Prince Quentyn help the youngest of them, who had slumped to the ground. Trystane was exhausted, she knew. Shape-shifting had always been one of the harder manifestations of his ability and it took all he had to maintain it for that length of time. Arianne smiled as Quen pulled his brother to his feet like a little doll. Then she remembered her prisoner, the Greyjoy's Trump card. They would not pay a ransom for him, of that she was pretty certain. Although it was common practice within the realm she doubted that they would honor it...and she also had her misgivings about keeping the princeling around their desert home of Dorne.
