~ Union of Targaryen and Stark & Birth of the Vampyre ~ Part Two ~

~ Essos, Volantis ~

~ Daenora Targaryen POV ~

Just as I was about to begin asking her about her religion, and instead of a lecture as I was expecting, she asked to show me something. She said it would be better than in her words, 'boring you by giving a lengthy sermon about the Lord of Light.' So she took me to the Grand Temple of the Lord of Light, although I was certainly not expecting to also meet with the High Preist of Rh'llor, Benerro, known as the Flame of Truth and The First Servant of the Lord of Light, as soon as we stepped in through the entrance of the temple.

Benerro was a tall and thin man with a drawn face and skin white as milk. Red flame tattoos cover his cheeks, chin, shaven head, and his high voice carries well when giving sermons. Next to him was another preist who introduced himself as Moqorro, the right-hand preist of the High Preist Benerro. He carried an iron staff as tall as he is, with a dragon's head that spits crackling green flame when brought down. Moqorro's skin is black as can be, darker than coal or the night the whole religion is so terrified of. He is a monster of a man, huge, over six feet tall and as wide as two men, with a belly like a boulder. A tangle of pure white hair grows from his face like a mane of a lion. He has a deep booming voice like a bass drum and has flame tattoos inked across his cheeks and forehead, which are yellow-and-orange colored or red-and-orange, depending upon the angle.

'It seemed as if they had been awaiting my arrival.' I thought, as I stepped in the Grand Temple of R'hllor. The Temple of the Lord of Light sits on the eastern shore of the Rhoyne River, beneath the Black Walls of Volantis. The enormous temple has numerous pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes, and towers that flow into one another, and its walls are colored in hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange. The High Priest preaches from a red stone pillar in the great plaza found before the temple. A slender stone bridge connects the pillar to a lofty terrace of the temple. Huge nightfires burn besides the temple's steps, with the pillar standing between them. Crowds can gather in the torchlit plaza to listen to the priests.

Surrounding them were the slave guards of their faith, The Fiery Hand. The Fiery Hand is a group of slave soldiers employed as guards for the red temple of R'hllor. The Fiery Hand contains a thousand soldiers, never more and never less. They wear ornate armor over their orange robes and wield spears with points shaped as writhing flames. As per the custom of Volantis, these slaves have flames tattooed across their cheeks. As Kinvara and I approached, it was the High Preist Benerro who greeted us. "Welcome, naejot se temple hen rh'llor, ānogar hen zaldrīzes. īlon emagon issare expecting ao, Daenora hen lentor Targārien. Se āeksio emagon shown īlva aōha destiny se ziry iksos jēda naejot show ao. Māzigon. Aōha future awaits ao."

After that one meeting, within the next year, I would; fly to the Kingdom of the First Men, asking for the hand of their prince, a Stark of Winterfell, am then married by Kinvara in three different religious ceremonies combined into one. Before the sacred Weirwood trees of the Old Gods of my new husbands' families faith, with a bonefire burning in front of the heart tree to represent the Fourteen Flames and Rh'llor. Now that I look back at how fast that all happened, I couldn't help feeling like I was dosed with some potion or something, but then I looked down at my son's face and knew it didn't matter. I would do it all over again as long my little dragon wolf is the final goal, and I would burn down the world just to have him in my arms and well.

At that moment my husbands direwolf, Nightwind and right behind him was the tall figure of my husband himself, Barthogan Stark, Prince of the North, a fierce man that I truly do love, walking in. A wide smile graced my face as, in my excitement, I introduced our child to him in High Valyrian when he and Nightwind came near. "Barth, māzigon se rhaenagon īlva tresy, Draegon Targārien Stark." ( Barth, come and meet our son, Draegon Targaryen Stark.)"

~ Westeros, Winterfell ~

~ Narrators POV ~

In the heart of the North, the kingdom of the First Men and in the past home of the Children of the Forest, giants, shadowcats, direwovles, and more stood the ancient castle Winterfell Winterfell is the ancestral castle and seat of power of House Stark and is the capital of the north. Situated at the eastern edge of the wolfswood, north of the western branch of the White Knife and Castle Cerwyn. The ancient castle is south of the northern mountains and southwest of Long Lake, one hundred leagues (three hundred miles) southeast of Deepwood Motte, placing the castle right in the heart of the North.

Winterfell is a huge castle complex spanning several acres and encircled by two massive granite walls. There is a village outside, the winter town. Winterfell has been built around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs. The water is piped through walls and chambers to heat them, making Winterfell more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters. Inside the walls, the complex is composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice take place in those yards. The inner ward is a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice takes place. It is located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stands the inner castle, which contains the Great Keep and the Great Hall. Winterfell's towers and halls have diamond-shaped window panes.

The godswood of Winterfell consists of three acres of forest within the walls of Winterfell. The godswood's multitude of trees create a dense canopy over old, packed earth and humus and moss. The godswood contains a meandering footpath of cracked stones. At the center of the grove stands an ancient weirwood with a melancholy face carved into it, a heart tree standing over a pool of cold black water. It is here that a young boy with unique long hair that started black but quickly fades into a silverish white color was taking a nap in between the heart tree and the pond. The boy, looking at about six or seven years old, stirs in his sleep as if having a dream about something. With a gasp the boy awoke, his bright but pale amethyst eyes with some gray spots shooting wide open, with a complex look on his face and after a brief moment a wild smile appears on his face as he stands to look into the pool of water in the pond next to him. As if looking at himself for the first time, he examined his face, and then he says to himself as he stares at his own, strikingly beautiful, face narcissisticaly in approval. "Damn, I'm ridiculously beautiful. It's not something I can do about it. Although, I'm going to need to start beating women off me when I'm older, actually I've already been running around, escaping some women that have been trying to make me a live dress-up doll for themselves. Not that I ever would need or want to beat women off myself. Anyway, let's see here..."

~ Winterfell, Godswoods ~

~ Draegon Targaryen Starks POV ~

I don't know if it's because of my new primordial vampire physique or because of my new magic heavy bloodline from both sides of my new families, but I assimilated my seven years of memories of my new life as Draegon Targaryen Stark; a badass name by the way, good job my new Targaryen mother, rather easily. And I must say, I am a one literal monstrous little genius.

I started speaking by six months old, even without my memories to help. Then by the age of one or as they say in my new home universe, by the time I reached my first name day I was already running around causing trouble for my new parents and the families I was born into. By the age of two name days, I could speak both High Valyrian and, with some pestering of my new Stark father who got me a teacher for the Old Tounge. Seems even without my memory, my drive to better myself is a part of me. Or I was bored and decided to pick up learning more languages as a hobby. I did enjoy learning Spanish and Italian in my last life. The Common Tounge that was introduced to Westeros by the Andals was just Victorian era English, so even without my memory of the language, it was easy enough to learn. Add my Spanish, English, and Italian now that I have my memories of my past life as Drake Zoraiz, I spoke six languages. The Old Tounge is an ancient, rune-based language spoken by the First Men before the Andal invasions, similar to the Celtic runes of ancient England. Today speaking the Old Tounge is rare in the North, it's only spoken by giants, a few wildlings who live far north of the Wall, and some of the First Men trides that live in the mountains and forests of the North I was told by my father Barthogan. 'I wonder if I can use those First Men runes for enchanting my future weapons and armor?'

'~ More information is needed on topics of enchanting, the runes combination, and more on how magic reacts to certain materials for that to be feasible. ~' Say a female voice within my head. I already know who or what it is, and I am excited to have the skill that made Rimuru Tempest a God in his universe. So I eagerly greeted back. 'Raphael...

~