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Fire Nor Fury Can Kill a Dragon

By Meowmerida97

Thriller / Fantasy

Prologue: The Dragon Returns

Prologue

3rd Person Pov

A man stepped off of the boat and onto the docks of the city he was born into. His nose crinkled at the stench the place gave off. However, no one noticed a hooded figure on one of the less legal docks in Kings Landing. No one would give him a second glance here. He walked through Flea Bottom bumping into a child that looked like his arch nemesis.

"What's your name boy?"

"Eric mi'lord. I'm sorry I bumped into ya mi'lord. Please don't send me to the black cells. I promise never ta do et 'gain."

"It is alright Eric, you just looked like someone I knew. Do you have a father by any chance?"

"No, mi'lord, not that I know of."

"Oh, well off you go. Get home and tell your family to stay inside. The coming days will be bad for the people who are caught unaware. Tell everyone you can find."

"Yes mi'lord."

The boy runs off and the man resumes his walk in the slums of his home city. He narrowed his eyes in disgust as he saw a Kingsguard with a whore on his arm.

"How the mighty have fallen," he says under his breathe. He continues to the middle class part of town.

There he finds the house he was told about, and is let in by the servants.

"Your grace, it is an honor to serve you."

"Please call me Rhaegar, I am no king yet. Just a disgraced prince."

"Yes Lord Rhaegar."

The servant leads Rhaegar to his quarters, and once alone he takes out his harp and begins the song of his revenge.

And who are you the young lord said, that I must bow so low?

Only a man of a different sort, that's all the truth you know

In a coat of gold, or a coat of black, a stag still has horns

And mine are sharp my lord, longer and sharper than yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that prince of Dragonstone

But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear.

And who are you the fat king said that I must bow so low?

Only a man of a different sort, that's all the truth you know.

In a coat of black, or a coat of red, a dragon still has claws.

And mine are sharp cousin, longer and sharper than yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that once young lord.

But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, with not a soul to hear.

Revenge would be sweeter than any nectar the Last Dragon had ever tasted before. He could feel it.

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