The Dragon Has Five Heads 1 (Game of Thrones/Warlock CYOA) (Patreon)

[center]<<Nestar Hill 1>>[/center]

The man who was once known to others as Nestar shuddered, his knees pulled up close to his chest and his arms over his head as he did his best to block out the sounds coming from outside. There were no others now, the monsters outside were making sure of that, he was the last one. Everyone on the crew had called him craven, a coward, but he was still alive, and they were dead. If they were the lucky ones.

Nestar didn’t count himself among the lucky ones, quite the opposite. He didn’t know what gods he had angered, to still be alive and retain enough of his mind to understand what had happened. Lord Lannister had been the first to go, ranting and raving in the night about demons and how they had brought the plague upon them.

No one on the ship understood, not at first. They’d encountered the occasional one of the Stonemen, but nothing that suggested demons. Not until the ship had stopped for the night, to allow some time on dry land. The captain had ordered a full sweep of the area, some ruins of what looked to have been a fishing village discovered.

Most of the crew had decided to sleep in the ruins, after making sure that the houses hadn’t been home to anything more than bones. Nestar was among them, claiming a ruined stone hovel at the top of a hill. The cut of the stone looked different from the rest, and inside there’d been a green stone statuette of a dragon with multiple heads.

Nestar was a fisherman, he didn’t know much about the colorful banners that the nobles used, but he did remember that the Targaryens had used a multiheaded dragon, hadn’t they? Some noble collector would probably find it interesting, so he’d carefully wrapped the statuette in cloth and slipped it into his bag. Also, he vaguely remembered descriptions of dragons saying they were built like birds, while the statuette had four legs and wings.

Regardless, that night was when the real trouble had begun. In the night, someone had woken up to the sound of screams, only to be killed by something in the dark, then another and another until only he was left. Nestar was convinced that the statue he had taken was cursed. No, not the statue, all of Valyria, there was a reason that no one returned from their trips to this cursed place.

The door to the hovel he was hiding in rattled, and Nestar curled into an even tighter ball. He was going to die in this cursed land, the gods wouldn’t save him. It was as something slammed against the door, stronger and heavier than the earlier ones, that he heard something. A voice, from his bag.

His hand darted into the bag, grabbing the bundle, the cloth coming away, and the statuette falling out and onto the floor.

“Do you wish to live, human?” the voice, like five women speaking in unison, asked. “To leave this land of the dead?”

“Yes, more than anything,” Nestar whimpered as the wooden door cracked, the monsters outside trying to break in. There was a moment of silence before the voices spoke again, the door cracking further.

“Then in exchange for granting you the power to depart, you will restore my true children to the world, and spread the worship of the Mother of Dragons to every land and every people. If you agree, place the fingers of your hand into the jaws, to seal the Pact in blood.”

Nestar had no idea how he’d do any of that, but he stuck the fingers of his right hand into the mouths of the statuette anyway, just as a massive, clawed arm burst through the wood of the door. There was a sting in his fingers, and then pain rushed through his body. He was barely aware of the claws digging into his stomach and tearing it open, and his last thoughts were of the beautiful, agonizing song that filled his mind, as well as the strange, serpentine shape his vision turned to before everything went black.

[center]<<Daenerys Targaryen>>[/center]

Sitting demurely on the horse skin blanket, Daenerys watched the Dothraki dance and drink, their merriment filling the air. She didn't want to be here, being married to a Dothraki khal had never been her wish, but her brother had given her no choice.

Several people had come up to her and her… husband, presenting gifts. What they were supposed to do with a box of snakes, she didn’t know, but they were set aside with the others as a man stepped forward. She couldn’t see anything of him, covered as he was entirely in rags, but he was taller and broader than anyone she’d ever seen before.

She felt his eyes on her, looking her up and down, before a deep, syllabant voice emanated from within the ragged form, “Ao Daenerys Targaryen issi…”

Daenerys blinked in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard anyone but herself and Viserys use High Valyrian. Her brother perked up as well, and Magister Illyrio waved one of the Dothraki slave girls over, whispering in her ear.

“Brōzio ñuha iksis Garyx, kosh hen Muña Zaldrīzoti, jentys hen Valyria sigligonr…” he began, and Dany’s brow furrowed in confusion. She’d never heard of a Mother of Dragons, dragons had been rendered extinct, hadn’t they? Forcing that aside, she listened as Garyx continued speaking. “A daughter of Valyria will not be married to a savage Dothraki. I will not allow this union to take place. The blood of the dragon deserves a more noble match, not one tainted by the barbarism of the Great Grass Sea. The honor of House Targaryen must not be sullied by an alliance with the horselords. Khal Drogo, you may be a fearsome warrior, but you are not fit to stand beside the last daughter of Valyria.”

As he spoke, Dany’s eyes grew wider and wider. The wedding guests went quiet, as his speech was translated twice, from High Valyrian to the Common Tongue, then from the Common Tongue to Dothraki. All eyes shifted from Garyx to the Khal, who had an eyebrow raised, looking almost amused at the claim.

Magister Illyrio frowned, his brows knitting together as his gaze shifted between the two. Drogo was the first to move, standing and stepping forward. He stood nearly a head shorter than the strange figure, but there was no mistaking the way his muscles flexed under his bronzed skin, and the way the other man tensed, his hands twitching at his sides.

Drogo spoke, one of the many slave girls moving to whisper in Dany’s ear, translating what he said, “You do not lack courage, I will give you that much. I have killed men for far less, for daring to look upon me with such disrespect. I think perhaps I should do the same to you, stranger. Who are you, to insult me so and claim that the woman I have chosen is not my rightful bride? You are not a Dothraki, no matter how brave you may be, or you would not need to hide your face from us.”

“By all means, barbarian, pick up your blade, try to cut me down. I will even give you a single free strike. But if you fail to kill me in that blow, then you will die a painful death, your organs will be turned to ash, your braid you hold so dear will be turned into a belt, your skull into a wine cup, and what remains of your corpse will be given to the dogs and birds. Now, will you try and fail to kill me, or will you sit back down, and cast aside this foolishness?”

Drogo’s answer was quick, his arakh seeming to fly from his belt into his hand. He swung the curved blade in an arc, and Dany nearly screamed, certain that she was about to see a man she didn't know, and likely didn't want dead, murdered before her.

The tip of the blade connected with the man's neck, the rags parting easily, only to stop upon meeting the man's skin. There was a moment, in which everyone seemed to hold their breath, and then the man's hand snapped out, grabbing the blade in his hand, before with a twist of his wrist the blade snapped in two.

Drogo took a step back, his eyes widening, and Dany couldn't blame him. No normal man could do that, his palm was unmarked, with no sign that he'd just grabbed a blade sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone.

There was a murmur through the crowd, but no one spoke up, watching to see what the Khal would do next. The Dothraki didn't fear death, and would not hesitate to challenge someone they felt had insulted them. Drogo's hand shot out, his fingers curling around the man's throat, and he was thrown into the air.

Drogo moved to follow, and was sent flying by a kick to the chest. The man, the giant, whatever he was, landed gracefully, and the rags fell away from his body. Dany's jaw dropped, as did everyone else in attendance. The man, Garyx, was no man at all. He looked like something halfway between a powerfully built human and a red scaled dragon.

Rolling his neck, Garyx grinned before throwing himself towards Drogo. What followed was… Dany hesitated to call it a battle or a duel, both words implied that Drogo pushed Garyx. But the dragonman moved with such speed and agility, his claws and fangs, which Dany hadn't even noticed until he'd drawn blood, leaving Drogo bloody and bruised, his clothes in tatters.

The man, the dragon, was soon holding Drogo by the hair, his head tilted back and jaw forcefully held open, as he said, “I warned you: your organs will be ash.”

Garyx took in a deep breath, opened his scaled maw and breathed a stream of fire directly down the Dothraki khal’s throat. Drogo flailed and screamed as the flame ate him up, and Dany wanted nothing more than to turn away.

But she didn't.

When the fire finally ceased, and the scream cut off, the dragonman turned to her, Drogo's head still held in one clawed hand as he held the other out to her. Dany couldn't help the gasp that left her as his fingers were coated in red scales, the claws extended past the tips.

She knew what was expected of her, but she couldn't force her body to move. His eyes, set into what should have been a monstrous face, showed patience and understanding, and he made no move to approach her.

It was Viserys that moved first, standing up and approaching the dragonman. Dany's eyes widened, and she couldn't stop the, “Brother, don't,” that came from her mouth.

Viserys didn't stop, approaching the one who killed Drogo, his face twisted in a sneer as he spoke, “I am Viserys, third of his name, true King of the First Men and the Andals. Drogo promised his horde to face the Baratheon usurper and restore my crown. You…”

The gentleness that she had seen in his eyes vanished as his gaze turned to Viserys. His lip curled, revealing a mouth full of sharp, deadly teeth, and his nostrils flared as he let out a huff of air, smoke and flames dancing across his tongue and lips.

“Your crown?” he growled, and Dany could feel the vibrations from where she was sitting. “You who sold the blood of Valyria to a barbarian are unworthy of a crown.”

Dany winced, knowing how her brother was going to react: the same way he always did. He would fly into a rage, and the consequences would be terrible. She closed her eyes, she didn't want to hear the words that came from her brother's mouth, but she could imagine them: insults and threats, and the promise of the Iron Throne, as if it would cow this man who’d breathed fire.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a gurgling cry, and she saw the dragonman holding her brother by the throat, her brother's feet kicking uselessly, his fingers clawing at the dragonman's scaly skin.

“You are not worthy to stand before her,” he growled.

Dany stood, her heart pounding in her chest as she called out, “Please, don't!”

His eyes, those strange, slitted, piercing yellow eyes, met hers, and she swallowed. There was no doubt, no question in his gaze. Viserys' life was hers to command, and he would end it, if she wished it.

She didn't, despite all his flaws and failings, he was still her brother. So she met Garyx’s gaze and said, “Please do not kill my brother.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn't even blink, and then with a nod he tossed Viserys to the ground. Her brother lay there, coughing and gasping, his face flushed red, but still alive. Stepping over Viserys, he approached her, holding out his hand once again.

Dany looked into his eyes, trying to see if she could find any hint of malice or cruelty, and found none. She placed her hand in his, and a smile spread across his face, his teeth looking almost friendly. Turning to face the still silent Dothraki, he let out a piercing whistle that echoed all throughout the camp.

The silence lasted another moment, before faint, echoing screams filled the air. The Dothraki warriors rose to their feet, looking around in confusion as they tried to understand what was happening. Garyx nodded, then turned back to her.

“Your brother shall live, by now my forces will have secured the city, and the barbarian horde will soon be blood in the soil and dust in the wind,” Garyx said as he walked with her, past the confused Dothraki.

A few tried to stop them, but their blades had even less effect on him than Drogo had. Soon, the sounds of screaming and fighting faded into the background, and Daenerys found herself alone with the man who had come to her...rescue?

He placed her upon a charcoal colored horse that stood taller than any she had seen before, its mane and tail a vibrant crimson. His hands were gentle as he helped her up, and as he climbed onto the back, his chest pressed against her back, his arms sliding around her as his hands gripped the reins, her heart raced. She could feel the scales that covered his body, but it didn't feel uncomfortable or unpleasant.

With a snap of the reins, the horse began to gallop, the land flying past her at speeds she couldn't believe. She could only stare at the world around her, her silver hair whipping about in the wind. In mere minutes, they were back in Pentos, the Unsullied guards having been slain by what looked like mercenaries that wore helmets stylized after dragons, and coming to a stop at one of the manses.

“This was the home of the Prince of Pentos,” Garyx said as he dismounted and lifted her off. Rather than setting her down, he held her in his arms, one under her back, the other under her knees, as if Dany weighed nothing.

As he carried her into the building, she looked up at him, the light reflecting off of his scales. She asked, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

He glanced down at her before answering, “I swore a pact to restore the dragons and to spread the faith of a forgotten goddess. To do that, I need to build an empire, and for an empire, I will need an Empress to carry my children. And a daughter of Valyria is perfect for the task.”

Dany's face heated at the mention of carrying his children, and his words sunk in. Swallowing thickly, she looked up at him and said, “You… you wish to…”

He gave her a smirk, his teeth flashing in the light, and said, “I want you to marry me, and give birth to the first of a new race that will rule the world. I can show you what we will create, if you so desire.”

His voice was calm, and she couldn't help the way her body reacted, the warmth between her legs. It was not something that had ever happened when her brother had spoken of their future, but this man… this dragon, had breathed fire and slaughtered an entire city, all for her.

Her answer was simple, and yet difficult for her to say, “Yes. I will marry you.”

Garyx grinned down at her, and said two words that sent an odd flutter through her stomach, “Sȳz riña.”