Author's Note 16.09.2012:

Here applies the same like in chapter one, I also added marks to show when I swith between Sansa and Tyrion POV, this will only happen in this and chapter 4

I own nothing

Tyrion loved to fly, he loved the cold wind in his face, the feeling of being mighty. His blood burned through his veins when he sat on the back of Viserion watching the tiny world beneath him. He had taken of his helmet, pinching his eyes together so he could see at least at bit. The world was so little from above, out of Tyrion's point of view they all were less than ants, he on the other hand towered above them.

That was exactly how he had imagined it to be when he had dreamed of his own dragon during his childhood. Tyrion had always wanted a dragon, a companion strong enough to defend him, to make him strong and the world around him fear his might. Back then he might had used the dragon to get rid of his sister, quick and clean, revenging his destroyed toys.

The feeling of having a dragon overshined all he could have ever imagined. He and Viserion shared a bond beyond nobody could understand who hadn't experienced it himself.

The moment Tyrion had taken the first step into the burning city of Meereen, while the great pyramids, the mountains crumbled and turned to ash he had felt it. Tyrion had arrived at the city together with the second sons, intending to bring order in the mess Ser Barristan couldn't control and offering his service to the Queen.

It had been then when he had heard a great roar in the ash clouded sky and a big shadow had stroke through the smog of burning houses and flesh. Tyrion had nearly shit himself stumbling back in fear when with a loud crash the white golden dragon had bored his claws in the paved street, causing little stones to fly free around him.

Even for a full sized man the dragon would have been enormous but for Tyrion he was unbelievingly big. His men had taken a defensive position behind him, ducking behind their shields and spears at the white monster.

Tyrion had been left alone in front of them, fearing now it would be finally over for him, ending up as a snack for a dragon. Tyrion had closed his eyes and turned his head away, awaiting the brutal death with his arm above his face.

But nothing had happened, instead Viserion had bend his head down, bringing his large nostrils close to Tyrion and sniffed. Tyrion felt the hot breath of the dragon on his clothes, like hot steam, nearly burning his skin.

Deciding he would die standing he had gathered all his courage and stood up, his small frame before the gigantic head. The feeling he had felt since arriving in the city had suddenly increased.

He stood there, looking straight at the dragon when his eye found one of his golden pools he called eyes, ignoring his black teeth.

Never had Tyrion felt like that, the urge to touch increased to a painful aching in his hand. He had reached out with his bare hand, not breaking the eye contact he laid his hand on the creamy scales.

It had been like an explosion, nearly knocking him out. It was like both their minds would meld together, becoming one. In blurry flashes Tyrion could see with his eyes, smell with his nose, hear with his ears their heart and soul became attached to each other.

Viserion had chosen him as his rider.

Later, in the ruins of Valyria he had read about it in an old book, the dragon chose the rider not the rider the dragon. The bond forming out of such a decision was supposed to be stronger than anything else, unbreakable and flowing through the blood. Viserion would most likely outlive his rider but only Tyrion's was the key to his obedience, and even if a part of Viserion would go with Tyrion in the afterlife.

They mind had melted, like the old Valyrians said, Tyrion's thoughts became his and the fire of his dragon would always act in their notion. Tyrion wasn't so sure what this actually meant but he didn't expect to understand all ancient magic at one day. Even the old Valyrians hadn't managed that, even they hadn't known how a dragon chosen his rider, some say it would be the family blood of previous rider other the twist of fortune other faith or just the likings of the dragons to find a familiar soul.

If the last was true Tyrion had luck, because not only mind and heart and soul melted together but also the emotions he felt when Viserion was angry and the other way around, he felt all he felt and Viserion all Tyrion felt. Luckily for him this wasn't such a problem, given the fact that his dragon was the quietest and laziest of his brothers, meaning all this strong emotions normally came from Tyrion not the other way around.

A difference to the Queen who was, from time to time, literally ruled by her dragons emotions, his wrath, fury and hot blood, making it hard for her to maintain her composer. There were days she didn't leave her rooms, not able to control her dragon's urges to rip someone's throat open. And dragon's emotion were much stronger than human ones. But on the other hand Tyrion disliked much more the time of the month when Drogon was ruled by the Queen's emotions, Tyrion preferred to hide then, like most of the court because Drogon lacked any control then

Tyrion remembered the first he had flown on Viserion, the greatest day of his life so far, even if the landing was not so nice, he vomited. Viserion might be the smallest of his siblings, like Tyrion was himself but he still wouldn't exchange him for anything, they were meant to each other. Rhaegal the third dragon, had flown away after his brother had found his rider and was never seen again. Daenerys had searched for her child but except for the knowledge that he flew north east nothing is known of him. Tyrion was sure he searched his rider.

Finally Tyrion could see his destination, the Eyrie, his soon to be 'torch'. This castle that haunted him in his nightmares nearly as much as the screams, the screams of the young girl with dark hairs surrounded by crimson soldiers. He had spent his time in the sky cells and now he would make them his tool to scream out to entire Westeros that they were at the dawn of a new age.

He planned to set the damned Eyrie on fire, burning wood, stone and metal turning this so proud castle in a torch of Viserion's golden fire. All in the Vale of Arryn should see the symbol of their Lord's power burning, they would be in shock, scarred, aware of the power now fighting against them. They would learn the dragons are back.

Tyrion would be the one destroying the impregnable stronghold burning his name in the history books, Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, the Halfman, rider of Viserion destroyer of the Eyrie. He would be famous forever and the Eyrie the Harrenhal of Daenerys' conquest.

But Tyrion wasn't unconsidered, after he had witnessed the suffer of the inhabitants of Runestone he somehow had a bad conscience but he knew the Eyrie would be abandoned at this time of the season, after all they couldn't live in it during the winter and this was good, because he didn't wish to kill anybody by fire. Heat was a cruel way of ending a life and he didn't want to be cruel. It was a death he wished on nobody, not even Cersei. But the Sky Cells would burn and so would his nightmares, at least he hoped so.

When they were near the Eyrie Tyrion could see the sky cells through Viserion's eyes, anger boiling up in him when he remembered how desperate he had been during his time in them. He didn't want to wait anymore, he wanted to see them burn, see them melt. He nearly had missed it, he suddenly noticed a small orange glow in one of cells.

'Impossible!' He thought to himself, the Eyrie was abandoned, he could see it, smell it though Viserion. Not ready for what he would see he took a closer look.

Even with brown hair he recognized her, he would recognise her everywhere. He had seen her at her weakest hour, seeing how she had hid behind an armour, he even had seen her laughing once, long time ago in Winterfell.

Anger, wrath, furry, nothing could describe what boiled up in him now burning his veins like acid. How could this be? Who would dare to do this? It didn't matter for him, he would find whoever was responsible and his wrath would be something to scare children in a thousand generations.

Sansa, his wife, the girl he owed more to than any other in Westeros. Was she really in a sky cell? He hadn't felt so much anger since the night his father had died by his hand or the day he had found out about Tysha's faith and the true nature of hers.

His anger flowed through him like magma and through his bond in Viserion, Tyrion could feel how the dragon heated up under him, like dragons did when they were angry. Viserion responded to his anger with a scream, so loud and so high and gruesome that the entire Vale most likely startled out of their sleep in dread and horror, a scream echoing at the mountains and the walls of all castles. And Tyrion headed to his wife.


Sansa was woken up by a loud gruesome scream echoing on the walls of her cells. She startled up, pulling her blanked tighter around her as a shield, gazing around, searching the source of this inhuman sound. She looked out of her cell, felling a fear coming up to her, something ancient. And then she saw it, a gigantic dark creamy shadow against the night sky coming in her direction great wings opened, like a bat with a long neck and tail, like a dragon.

Impossible, there were no dragons, they only existed in stories, like valiant knights in shining armour.

Panting in fear, ignoring her through the cold aching limps Sansa pressed herself at the wall behind her, pulling the blanked tighter to her, shaking both from fear and the cold.


Tyrion saw the small frame of the person he had recognised as Sansa Stark curled up in the corner of the Sky Cell, a little oven near her and a blanked around her. He used Viserion's superior senses to sharpen his image. She was shaking, he could see her pale face and dark rings under her eyes, she looked sick, near death. This realisation only caused him to urged Viserion faster forward.


Sansa pressed herself stronger at the wall behind her, her gaze wandering between the approaching beast and the locked door, there was no escape. She was paralysed by fear, whimpering she couldn't turn her eyes from the grey cream gold dragon ramming against the walls of the eyrie. Sans saw small rocks falling from the ceiling and walls, fearing her cell would collapse under the beast's weight. Its mighty golden claws grabbed the sides of prison. The gigantic beast turned, the ground quivering under it's every movements the dragon turned so that his back was to her but also his head. His golden eyes starring to her, hypnotising fearsome and yet, Sansa thought to see something gentle and caring in them.

Freeing her gaze she looked over the dragon, feeling his warm breath flowing over her, warming her, she nearly would have welcomed the heat wouldn't there be the long black daggers in the beast's mouth.

She briefly thought the dragon was here to take her with him, what an end for her, like in the stories but then she saw something on its back, something brown, varnish like on leather shining in the small light of her oven.

There was a movement, something small, shining red and gold climbed from the dragon's back, jumping on the floor with a metal rattle. Sansa tried to see more, her curiosity and the fact she wasn't dead yet lessen her fear a bit, but not much.

Whatever, whoever came from the dragon's back were now slowly approaching her, hand in the air. The person had a small frame, like a child. Totally bewildered, still paralyzed by her fear Sansa starred on whoever was there, in the shine of her oven.

But then the head of the person came in the light of the fire, light golden hair shinning like the sun in the fire light and shadows dancing over a scarred face, making it even more sinister than it already was.

'Her husband'

Sansa couldn't believe it, Tyrion slowly walked to her how was that possible? He looked taller to her, like in her dream! Was this a dream? Did she finally lose her mind, not able to differ between reality and fantasy? Or maybe it was just his glorious red golden armour but still what did he do here? And why was there a dragon, it couldn't be not a dream.

Sansa mustered him, searching for hint, is face was still deformed, his scar not as red as before but he wore a large beard, he never wore a beard in her dreams, she hated that thing. Wasn't this a dream after all?

"Sansa, is that you?" His voice was soft, deep but soft, gentle, his arms were up as if he wanted to show her he came in piece, but a large axe was at his belt. No this wasn't a dream a realisation causing even more fear in her.

The gods weren't merciful, wouldn't listen to her so her mind found only one explanation, he had come to kill her, punish her for running away, betraying him. Maybe this was good, an end she hadn't been brave enough to cause herself.


"My Lord?" Sansa asked him, now Tyrion was sure, her soft voice, like a morning song. This was Sansa. She looked even more frightened now whit him approaching. Her eyes fixed on him in terror.


"Tyrion, my Lady, for you, it's always Tyrion." The small armoured man in front of her spoke, sounding calming assuring. Sansa listened to him, her wedding night coming back. He always wanted her to call him with his given name during the times he had been kind. He gestured around turning his body and a smile, turning sincere by the shadows appeared on his face when he said amused: "Look at this, looks like I for once rescue the maid in the tower, My Lady, are you ready to be rescued?" He barked a small laughter, extending his hand his eyes being so kind.

It was like a great weight suddenly fell from her heart he hadn't come to kill her, he was there to rescue her. He came like a knight in shining armour, like in her songs.

A hot tear streamed over her cold cheek when she reached out his hand, still fearing he could turn to smoke as soon as she touched him but no, she grabbed solid warm, flesh.

Sansa still couldn't think straight, the initial shock of his arrival together with her weakened state was too much for her mind. Shaking she stood up, nearly stumbling over her aching legs, the blanked still around her.

Tyrion guided her with him, small steps leading the way down the slope, covered partial with ice. Sansa had to control all her movements not to fall, and then she froze in front of the beast. And she hesitated.

"Don't worry he is totally harmless, most of the times. His name is Viserion" Tyrion smiled up to her, she knew it was meant assuring but he still looked sinister, but she didn't care, gathering courage she took a step nearer, feeling the dragon radiated heat, heat she urged for

He mounted the dragon first, letting her stand down, but she had grabbed his arm and then his leg, not wanting to let lose, fearing he would fly without her. After he pulled her up with his strong arms, Sansa hadn't known how strong there were, he helped her to sit properly behind him, taking her hand he slung them around his waist, if she would have had any strength left she might would have blushed but she was too tired, and cold, even with the dragon and him warming her.

The dragon exhaled a loud groan and pushed himself up from the wall falling free down. Sansa screamed in horror, clamping on her saviours small body, closing her eyes.

Viserion caught himself with spread wings during the fall and flew east into the rising sun.

"Tyrion, my Lady, for you, it's always Tyrion." I always wanted to add this line