𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 ━ how to train your dragon¹

𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾

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❛ sᴛᴏʀᴍʙᴏʀɴ. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚ ▎❛ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ❜ ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴛʜᴇ (ᴛʀᴜᴇ) ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ
ᴏғ ᴅᴀᴇɴᴇʀʏs sᴛᴏʀᴍʙᴏʀɴ ꒱


❝ KEEP HER SAFE ❞

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Daenerys Targaryen was born during one of the worst storms Berk had ever seen— and that was saying a lot, considering the archipelago was lashed with all kinds of terrible weather on a daily basis. The sky had been midnight-black as hail thundered on the roof while rain beat against the windows. It had been a night too foul for any man or beast to roam the streets, and thus the Targaryens could only rely on the expertise of the matriarch, Eydis, to bring their daughter into the world.

She was title-less and landless, but her family strove to live within their means. Their simple life was built on similar foundations to other Viking families; they prided loyalty, close family ties and headstrong stubbornness. Their home was plain but clean, with handmade wooden furniture and bare floors. Randolf, her father, was a carpenter by trade, so their home was always well supplied. Ingrid, her mother, and Eydis were sewing women and often worked on their craft at night by the light of the fire.

This description of their modest lifestyle is only to shine light on the family's pride and joy (besides their daughter): three jewel-toned, oblong rocks that were showcased on the mantlepiece. You might think that these were precious stones or gems, but you'd be mistaken, for these were not always inanimate objects: they were once dragon eggs. The Targaryen family lore behind the acquisition of such rare and priceless artefacts is a whole other story within itself, but each generation has been tasked to protect these eggs from harm. Of course, the people of Berk believe that they are what they appear to be: pretty rocks and nothing more. If they knew the truth, the whole village would be at the Targaryens' door in a heartbeat.

It is these eggs that shape Daenerys Targaryens' destiny. As a baby, she would gaze up at them from her mother's arms, her interest taken by their vibrant colors. Her father would hold her up and let her place her chubby hand on the rough, scaly surface of the egg. Her grandmother told her stories about dragons and their history with the Targaryen clan. Daenerys was hardly over a year old and her life was already filled with tales about the goodness of dragons, which was so very different from her peers' upbringing, where parents taught their children to fear them instead.

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It all began on a still summer's night. There was a breath of warmth in the air— rare for Berk— and the village was quiet as the Vikings settled in for the evening, wary of the encroaching danger that could spring upon them without warning. It was on nights like these that they often gathered around the hearth and talked about anything and everything until the wee hours of the morning. On this particular night, Ingrid and Randolf were seated on the floor, several feet apart from each other as they encouraged Daenerys— who was affectionately nicknamed Dany— to walk between them. Eydis sat on the bench nearby with a rough-spun tunic and a bone needle.

Unfortunately, this kind of dry, calm evening was the perfect flying weather for dragons. Shouts of 'FIRE!' were soon heard as Vikings rushed to defend their village. Randolf and Ingrid exchanged a look— the kind that said everything even while no words were spoken— and rose to their feet. Ingrid scooped up the baby girl and passed her off to her grandmother. "Keep her safe," she instructed the older woman, only to receive a faint scoff in return.

"Don't I always?" For, even if Eydis wasn't as young as she used to be, she was still a Viking, and would protect her family until she breathed her last.