Drogon

Past

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Growing up

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Drogon's talons scraped across the stone. He huffed angrily. He hated being chained like this. He looked back at his brothers, who were squabbling over some food. He was hoping his mother would come save them, maybe even pet his chin. That always felt nice.

Drogon watched as Viserion attempted flight, screeching at his brother as he tried to appear bigger. He turned back around, staring at the barred opening to the cave. Just then, a figure walked past. He perked up at the shadow passing by. He heard his brothers become silent, as Rhaegal walked up next to him. He could only guess Viserion stayed back to eat the food.

The shadow came back, and Drogon recognized it as his mother. He sqwaked excitedly, as did his green brother. He even heard Vis join in, running forward clumsily to join them. The shadow walked forward, revealing itself to be a Fae that acted as their mother. Daenerys looked down at the three Banescale sadly, but her eyes were filled with rage. Her sons had been kidnapped and chained.

Just then, a Guardian came in. Daenerys placed herself between them and other, larger dragon. Frankly, if Drogon could understand what they were saying, he would show more interest. However, he only knew the language of the old Banescale, from thousands of years ago, as their mother had told them.

Then, came Drogon's favorite part. Daenerys screamed "Dracarys!" and Drogon was first to breath the flame that would help end the scary old Guardian. His brothers joined mere seconds later, breathing their flames past their mother and at the Gaurdian.

After they were done, the Guardian long gone, their mother unchained them. Drogon took his spot on her shoulder, while Rhaegal and Viserion decided to sit in her arms. She carried them out of the cave, and they looked to the sky, singing the songs of the Banescale.

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Just Grown up

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Drogon soared through air on graceful wings. He scanned the land far below in search of prey. His brother, Rhaegal, was gliding next to him. Viserion was nowhere to be seen, which worried him, and he was sure it worried Rhaegal as well. Viserion wasn't the best hunter, like he normally boasted.

"Look, down there," Rhaegal hissed next to him. Drogon looked to where his brother was staring. A small herd of sheep stood grazing; easy prey, even for Viserion's atrocious hunting skills. At least, he hoped. Knowing the golden Banescale, he would still manage to scare all of the sheep off before even letting them get a chance.

"Herd of about 60 sheep," Drogon stated, quietly, in hopes that if Vis was nearby, he wouldn't hear them and go after their prey until they got to it. "Let's go before Viserion gets-" He was cut off by a screeching gold blur diving to the ground. "To it..." He finishes, watching as the yellow Banescale clumsily flapped his wings, breathing flames in every direction in hopes of getting a sheep.

Rhaegal dove quickly in one direction, chasing down a running sheep. Drogon followed his actions, going after a different one. Rhaegal failed to catch his, but Drogon was successful in flaming a few sheep before they got away. Of course, being the dominant Banescale of the three, he would eat his share first.

Of course, Rhaegal would still find a way to sneak past his defenses, but he didn't exactly care. They were hunting together initially, so he deserved a few. And besides, he was clever, being able to slip under Drogon's neck to snatch an unwatched piece of meat. Viserion, however, wasn't the same way.

The golden Banescale would angrily approach him, sqwaking indignantly at him, demanding food. Drogon would scare him off again and again, until he was finally done eating. Viserion got a little crazy when he ate, flailing around on top of his food as if trying to kill it a second time. Drogon could only guess this was his way of accommodating for his lack of success in catching his own prey, and therfore has decided to act out catching his own prey when it became his turn.

Despite their differences, Drogon swore to himself nothing bad would happen to his three brothers. As their mother came up from the kingdom below, which Drogon had forgotten about during the hunt, his thoughts trailed off into the possibilities of what could happen to his brothers, and what he would do to try and prevent it from happening.

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Viserion's Icy Lake

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A war. In the South. They had been dragged into a war in the South. Of all places, why here? Why the coldest place on Sornieth? They apparently had to fight this undead "Night King". Flame would take care of it and it's minions, who the Ice dragons referred to as Wights.

Drogon and his brothers flew overhead, flaming anything they could that even stood out as a threat. They were unstoppable; they wouldn't let the Night King take over the Southern Icefields.

Drogon was probably the most powerful and efficient of his brothers. He flew overhead, stopping down only when necessary to flame his foes. He made sure he wasn't low for too long. Rhaegal was the same way, making sure to not remain open to fire too long.

Viserion, however, was his usual self. Screeching loudly at his foes, staying uncomfortably low to the ground. He had a few close calls that made even Drogon's blood run cold, and he was sure it wasn't the ice and snow. Viserion only ever flew higher when his brothers called him back up.

Drogon trusted Viserion enough to come up, and with Rhaegal calling him, why shouldn't he? That was, until he heard a shriek. No, two shrieks. "NOOOOOOOOO!!" He heard Rhaegal scream. Instinctively, Drogon looked over. His eyes widened at the site.

Viserion had been speared. He struggled to stay in the air, blood fountaining from the wound, screeching, spewing fire as he fell to the ground below. He heard his mother cry out from his back, and he heard his own voice. "VISERION!" Drogon cried out in anguish, as Rhaegal tried to catch their golden brother, only to fail.

Viserion's body hit the ground with a heavy crash. The ice in the frozen lake cracked beneath him. The lake opened, and Viserion's body slowly slipped in. As the Wights began to retreat, Drogon was the first to land, seeing his brother weakly try to scrabble his way back onto solid land, but the ice kept breaking. Drogon tried to find his footing on the frozen lake, but it was no use. Any pressure caused the ice to crack and break. He looked up at his brother, who stared at him with pleading eyes. Then a soft, ever so quiet, meek voice reached Drogon's ears; one he never thought he would ever hear. "Please. I don't wanna die. Not like this. I don't like water! Please! HELP ME!" Drogon cried and gave one final attempt to reach his brother, but the ice was too cracked and broken, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't have been able to reach his brother in time. He watched painfully as his brother sank into the lake, as he tried desperately to keep his head above the water, but to no avail. Drogon heard Rhaegal land behind him, their mother walking up to sooth the green Banescale. Drogon hung his head and cried.

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Rhaegal's Fall

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Drogon and Rhaegal soared over the Sea of a Thousand Currents. Daenerys, as usual, was on Drogon's back, Rhaegal alongside him. Together, they flew above a fleet of ships, primarily their mother's and the Southern Icefields' ships.

Everything was going well, until their fleet ran into the Water Flight's Iron Fleet. Said to be the strongest fleet in almost all of Sornieth, Drogon already knew the battle would be bloody. Battle ensued, and the deaths began. Dragons were either shot by archers or fell overboard. On rare occasion, an enemy would make it onto the decks of a ship and take out a dragon or two before being killed themselves.

Daenerys ordered that they go down to help. Diving down, Drogon and Rhaegal breathed flames onto the Iron Fleet, destroying many if the ships, and burning the ends of sails on others. They circled back around, going above the clouds to keep hidden from fire, before dipping below to prepare to strike again. Until, suddenly, Rhaegal gave a yelp of pain.

Drogon looked over, seeing a bolt in Rhaegal's shoulder. Still watching his brother with concern, he saw another bolt pierce into his chest. Drogon's eyes widened, as he heard his mother call out slightly. Drogon was about to try to catch his brother, when a bolt pierced Rhaegal's throat.

The green Banescale tried to scream, but all that came out was a garbled sound as blood leaked from his neck and mouth. He started falling, as Drogon shrieked. "RHAEGAL!" He couldn't go through this again. He already lost Viserion, and now Rhaegal. He swore this would never happen, yet it did. He heard his mother softly cry, as Drogon flew up into the clouds.

Undetected by the Iron Fleet, Drogon made his move. Diving down, he let out a terrifying screech, taking after Viserion's hunting style. The dragons on the Iron Fleet froze and looked up in fear, as Drogon let loose a large flame, coating the fleet, and destroying it entirely in the process.

He flew back around, studying the spot around which Rhaegal had fallen. He turned to the main ship in his mother's fleet, staring at a Skydancer. He gave the best glare he could to what he could only guess was his mother's possible future mate, Jon. A stare that said you better protect my mother, or you will face the consequences.

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The True Last Dragon

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As time went on, Drogon became more and more depressed. He started seeing the spirits of his fallen brothers. He would wake up from nightmares, crying out for his brothers, only for the horrible reminder that they were no longer there.

Daenerys tried her best to calm him. The war would be over soon, and she would sit on the throne that everyone fought for. The spiky chair that was rightfully her's. Drogon had never learned the real name of the throne.

Daenerys climbed on Drogon's back, and they flew off to where the throne was. They landed down, and he stared at the chair made of swords. His mother looked at it, and walked around it. Drogon, on the other hand, walked away and laid down near a collapsed wall.

The snow was still falling quickly, and it coated him in mere minutes, just before Jon got there. Drogon only heard bits and pieces of their conversation, not caring enough to listen. That was, until he heard nothing. At first he thought he had died from the cold somehow.

Curious, he stood up, shaking the snow from his body. Ok, so he wasn't dead. Good to know. Until he looked over at where Jon was standing, and his mother, laying on the ground, in a pool of her own blood. He saw the knife in her chest, and it all pieced itself together.

He still nudged his mother's body, hoping maybe, by some miracle, she was still alive, but she didn't move. Angered by Jon's betrayal, already knowing he gave the Skydancer enough warning during the fight his brother Rhaegal died, he bared his teeth. He watched the Skydancer brace for an incoming attack as Drogon brought his head up, growling.

He threw his head back, screeching towards the sky, letting the world know the pain he had been through. Looking down at Jon, the Skydancer stared back fearfully. Drogon prepared a flame, and Jon shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself. But Drogon had other plans.

He whipped his head around to the throne, shooting a stream of flame out, melting the throne. If his mother couldn't have it, no one could. Jon only stared in bewilderment, unable to do anything. Drogon looked back at him, huffed, and picked up his mother's body, flying off.

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The Aftermath

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Ever since the death of his family, Drogon had taken refuge in the Forgotten Kingdom. He joined some other dragons on an island, and has rested there since. He rarely has the motivation to move about and do anything. He is haunted by the spirits of his brothers and mother, whom he failed to protect.

He spends most of his time grieving. Many dragons say they see him talking to himself, not knowing he is talking to his fallen family. The oldest dragons are wise enough to know that he truly sees them, while the younger dragons doubt the Banescale's sanity.

Sometimes, Drogon wishes things had been different. All so he could have his mother with him. His brothers with with him... "Mother... Rhaegal... Viserion... I'm so sorry..." Gentle sobs can be heard, as the black and red Banescale lays his head down, closing his eyes.

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Scries in case I decide to change some genes: