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Part 1 of The Wings of Time
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🌑 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 🌑
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Published:
2023-09-27
Updated:
2025-10-01
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88/130
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Dragons, Dreams, and Second Chances

Summary:

Winterfell had fallen.
Daenerys watched the white walkers overrun the castle, the surrounding areas, swallowing life like a never-ending wave. They disappeared among the snow as Drogon took her higher.

---

“There is a dragon,” the guard reported, panting for air.
Rhaenyra sighed weakly. “Which one? Aegon’s?” What could they possibly want?
“No… Never… never seen it, princess.”

— OR —

Dany and Drogon accidentally travel back to 124 AC. Together with Rhaenyra, she tries to stop the Dance of the Dragons. The Night King tries to hunt her through every little change, for he refuses to admit defeat. They will learn their place. All of them.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Winterfell had fallen.

Daenerys watched the white walkers and their wights overrun the castle, the surrounding areas, swallowing life like a never-ending wave. They disappeared among the snow as Drogon took her higher.

For a few days, they were ahead of them. Passing by villages, little glowing lights in the dark, which had no idea what was coming. The first she saw, she wanted to land. To warn them, maybe take some along… but Drogon didn’t listen. He just flew on, wings beating in the night.

He wouldn’t land, not ever, not when he didn’t absolutely have to. Death was coming for them. He had the vague plan to outfly them, to pass the big ocean back all the way to where he had hatched. Ice things surely couldn’t live in the desert. He remembered the sun. The dryness, the bleak heat. It would save them, he was sure of it. Even though mother didn’t approve, she yelled and screamed until her voice went hoarse in the beginning, trying to order him down to the ground. Fighting his instinct to follow her words, to simply ignore her was the hardest. For right now, she didn’t have to approve. He knew what he was doing.

Only dragons had to sleep as well. Finally landing, Drogon hunted food for his mother and himself and melted ice with his fire. Ate, drank, and watched Daenerys do the same. She gnawed on the deer leg he had gotten her. She looked ragged. Exhausted, fearful, sad, little sleep and too much panic.

“We have to…” she stopped and just looked down. She didn’t know what they had to. Earlier she always knew, but now… They’d all be dead. There was nothing they could do, only what Drogon was already doing. Outrunning them. “Can you get us to Dragonstone?”

Drogon growled. It wasn’t safe! Too close still. But maybe a break would be good, just for a day. For half-one even. So that mother could get some actual rest. The water should keep them safe for a moment, at least.

“Please,” she said softly. “I…” and then she burst into tears. “Should have told Missandei to stay there. Should have…” and then it was just sobs and tears. Drogon whined lowly and nudged her carefully, which just seemed to make things worse. He growled weakly, heartbroken to see her like this, and curled around her, trying his best to keep her safe from… from what? The world? The reality of everything? They were all dead. He couldn’t change that. He could just gently nudge her again. Daenerys crying got louder, while she hugged him. His gone-crazy brother was still out there somewhere. And who knew what happened to Rhaegal? He hoped he was still going, flying south like they did. Maybe his new little plaything had survived too. But at least the latter, he doubted. He had seen them crash at some point during the battle, Jon running away on the ground. How stupid one could be. Running away. He only wished…

Snow shifted. Dead smell. Something cold touched his scales. Drogon snapped awake at last, surrounded by wights. He roared, ripped the closest thing apart with his fangs and then breathed fire. The walking skeletons burned and turned to ash, thankfully, but he knew there would be more. There were always more. An endless more.

Something light pressed on his back. His head swirled around, ready to rip it apart too, to keep mother safe – everything to keep mother safe! – but he realized at the last second that it was mother. She clung to his back.

“Fly,” she said, determined as ever, as she normally was. Drogon just growled at her, turned his head back and pushed himself off the ground. Fly, he could.

While they were getting higher, Drogon spotted the wave of dead moving towards them. They had caught up to them. So quickly.

“No,” Daenerys whispered and fell quiet. What else to say? There was nothing.

Well. Dead things didn’t need rest. They didn’t need food. They didn't have to look out for their mother. He breathed fire on the next best forest he found, knowing they wouldn’t advance through the flames, and then kept close to the spreading fire. Could maybe buy them a few hours.

---

When he finally flew higher, with the entire forest beneath him ablaze, he didn’t see anything dead nearby. Spiralling higher, he looked out, but only fire and melting snow towards its edges.

Good.

Maybe a few hours.

---

The dead caught up to them three more times. Every time, they ran. Every time, Drogon got them out of there, but he knew he was getting weaker. Taking off the ground got harder. Waking up to them attacking got rougher. He hadn’t woken up to them scaling him, but to a fucking sword rammed into the soft area beneath his wing. Good thing he had essentially lain atop mother. They could have killed her in his sleep.

---

Four hours on, a scream pierced the sky. A cold shiver crept along his scales. He didn’t even have to look. His mother’s scream was answer enough. But of course, he had to. Just a glance. Viserion, blazing blue eyes, the ice man atop him. Of course, it had to be the crazy brother. He’d even take the plaything over this one.

Viserion folded his wings and dropped, getting closer towards them. Drogon roared at them and did his best to fly faster. For a little, he kept ahead. For a little, he had hope. Maybe… but what maybe? The ice man didn’t burn, his brother sure wouldn’t mind fire either. The only possibility was outfly them, but he couldn’t do that. Not for long, now.

Far away, it occurred to him that they had hunted them on purpose. Let him rest only so little, catch up, repeat, until he could barely fly.

Viserion snapped at his tail. Didn’t catch him, once, twice. Then, he got him. Fangs sank into his tail. Drogon roared, missed a wing beat, and then his brother was on him. His mother screamed, trying to get away from the fangs, the claws, clinging to his back. She’d fall any second now. He growled and bit Viserion, ripping flesh off his neck, who of course didn’t care. Blue eyes didn’t care for anything. Mother’s grip slipped. Drogon roared again, breathed fire, clawed and bit, and got free. Somehow.

The wind picked up, flying snow swallowed them. Drogon tried to twist and turn, beat his wings, but he had no clue where up was, where Viserion was, where – they crashed into the ground. He took down a tree with him, splinters piercing his wings, mother screamed, and at least he screamed too. Wailed. His crazy brother had bitten his tail, his leg, his neck, had so desperately tried to get to his back. To get to mother. Drogon screamed again and breathed fire, bathing his wings and everything around him in flames. At least, he could burn the tree.