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Game of Thrones: The Dragonborn - Chapter 159 - Skagos.
🕑 Added 2025-08-13 14:56:56 +0000 UTC[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]
Third Person POV.
North.
...
...
Daemon finally left the camp while everyone watched Winter ascend into the sky and disappear for a while, before returning to the march south under Manceâs leadership.
Meanwhile, Daemon, with Winter, advanced eastward, passing by Karhold, seeing a large group of men leaving the place, which meant that Alys was finally heading to Winterfell with all the free folk, their clothes distinguishable as he flew over them on his dragon.
In any case, he continued eastward with Winter, and it didnât take long before the island of Skagos came into view. Flying atop the dragon, the first thing Daemon did was check where the main cities on the island were. Then he decided to move through the place, circling it a few times before deciding what to do first.
Winter tilted, descending quickly toward the largest city he had found, and it didnât take long for the massive white bulk of Winter to draw attention, as the very air emitted a sound from his beating wings.
Everyone who was in an open area looked up almost simultaneously on that side of the city, catching everyone by surprise.
No one could react until, suddenly, they could see a huge dragon flying over the city, while Winterâs roar echoed from the sky, his presence and sound making the entire city tremble.
The infrastructure was not very good, as they used nothing but wood in the city, with a small wall around the place and houses made of the same material. There was no stone or iron.
The shouting among the people, regardless of gender or age, was quickly heard by Daemon. They screamed in fear of the unknown and immense bird-like creature, something unfamiliar to most of them, which was frightening when no one had ever seen such a creature before nor knew what it was.
His wings kept beating, generating even more wind. Daemon circled the city once more, watching the people preparing weapons, mainly bows, to bring Winter down.
He wanted to see how many warriors would rise, and it was a good number â in the hundreds in that city alone. Perhaps the Skagos could gather 5,000 soldiers, which would already be good â not for the number of soldiers, but for the symbol it would bring, uniting all the North under this banner.
Everything revolved around symbolism. He needed to think through each of his moves, as conquering the throne was one thing, but even harder would be keeping it, especially when Daemon could no longer be here and his descendants had to rule. He had to leave a lasting image in his conquest, better than what Aegon the Conqueror had done.
In any case, Daemon grew tired of circling the city and advanced toward one of the gates, landing smoothly at the entrance, with the nearby trees almost bending under the force of the wind caused by Winter, as he waited atop the dragon.
He waited a bit for the people to calm down, while he could still feel the entire city frightened by the dragon standing at one of the entrances.
It didnât take long before people arrived, the gate was opened, and Daemon was received with shouting in the background as those men advanced with fearful looks. They had no wall, so they had no choice but to face the dragon and the man riding on its back head-on.
A bearded man approached â somewhat red-haired, not as much as Tormund, but still red-haired. He looked at Winter with both caution and awe, seeing the creature for the first time. He knew what a dragon was, at least from what he had heard. Then his gaze shifted to the man atop the dragon.
"Who are you, stranger?" the man asked immediately. "And donât come any closer. Otherwise, weâll deal with you and the creature." He spoke with a voice that didnât sound as confident as he wanted.
Daemon raised an eyebrow, amused, wondering how they would deal with a dragon.
Setting that aside, Daemon let a more serious expression settle on his face. "Well, straight to the point: I am Daemon Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms. Iâm here to summon you to battle and fight by my side," Daemon said.
There was silence until the man before him replied, gritting his teeth. "Who do you think you are to come here and simply say you want us fighting at your side?!" the man roared, furious.
Daemon didnât get annoyed by this â he was enjoying himself, almost smiling again.
"You have served House Stark. You have a vow with them, and Iâm here to have that same vowâŚ" Daemon replied.
"You think we donât know who you are? We know what that creature is. We fought against them a long time ago. Our elders told of the battle against them, even though they thought they had disappeared," the man replied, and to the dragon, that made sense: if they had taken part in the end of the Second Dance of the Dragons, they clearly knew what a dragon was and had seen some before. "You belong to that family, donât you? So donât come here with this idea of you being a Stark!" the magnar roared.
"Thatâs where youâre wrong," Daemon said calmly. "My mother is a Stark. I have Stark blood in my veins. That makes me as much a Stark as any other. But you must be wondering if Iâm a Stark worthy enough to summon you. I know of the pact about serving or not serving House Stark each generation. Well, the difference now is that a Stark will be sitting on the Iron Throne," Daemon said.
He could have said he was half Stark by blood, but in theory, everyone had half Stark blood when there were marriages between cousins. Still, Daemon was as much a Stark as his uncle and cousins.
Silence once again took over the place. The man looked quite thoughtful, and behind him, his companions seemed very cautious.
Daemon waited until the man broke the silence, while he seemed to study him, pondering whether to believe his words or not. But Daemonâs appearance gave him away as a Stark.
"My father spoke of it, as did his father before him. We know very well about the pact. It still passes from generation to generation. But what do you want from us?" he asked.
"There is something in the South that we must conquer. You must already imagine that we will be fighting for the Iron Throne once again. If your ancestors passed on the information as well, youâll know it is the cursed chair. I am to take it for myself. I will be the first Stark to sit on the Iron Throne. But even so, I want you with me, with the whole North united," Daemon made clear.
The man hesitated a little, thinking of something, while keeping a wary eye on the giant dragon.
"YouâŚ" he spoke again, "... came here riding on that creature, correct?"
Daemon nodded.
"We know how you fight, always on top of those creatures. If you truly want the support of House Magnar to uphold the pact, you will have to pass the test and prove your worth â without that creature â and fight with your own hands!" the man said in a more serious tone.
Daemon nodded. "Thatâs already a good startâŚ" he murmured.
"And what do you want me to do?" Daemon asked aloud. He knew these people were aware they stood no chance against Winter â and they recognized it.
So, what would they do for him to leave with their support? It was clear they did not want to serve him, harboring some distaste for the Targaryen blood in his veins as soon as Daemon had said his name.
"Simple. We want you to promise that, if you lose, you will not return here and will not attack us with your⌠what do you call it? Spirit of fire⌠NoâŚ" he said, giving his condition, though not knowing the proper name for the creature.
Daemon raised an eyebrow at the name they used for a dragon. "Dragon," Daemon said.
"Thatâs it," the man nodded, satisfied.
"Very well. Tell me what your trial is." He didnât hesitate. The man at the entrance gave a faint smile.
"Well, come with me then. We wonât attack you."
After asking Daemon to enter, he followed, leaving Winter behind. He advanced, surrounded by men who quickly approached to check if he carried any weapon â but he had nothing on him.
"Heâs clean, my lord," one of the men replied, and the leader nodded.
"Alright. Letâs take him to the pit."
Daemon said nothing and followed to what he believed to be a huge hole in the ground, like those underground arenas where people watched from above, entertained by all sorts of games, whether between men, animals, or both mixed. He was led to the edge of the place with the entire city staring at him curiously, setting aside their fear of the dragon.
"If you want to prove your worth, you will have to deal with ten of our best warriors at the same time," the man said, certain that Daemon was strong, but sparing no effort to defeat him.
Daemon shrugged. "Alright. I will accept your challenge," he said calmly, while the man frowned at his composure but nodded.
"Take him to the arena," the leader told the handler, and Daemon headed for the entrance.
"What are you doing, Magnar? Can we trust this? Just challenging him and making him lose?" another man appeared, approaching the leader.
"We have no choice. We have to try to get him out of here with that thing. If we refuse, he might attack us â youâve heard about what that thing can do â and if we kill him, that thing could also attack us. So itâs better to deal with this the old way. Iâll send ten men at the same time â no man would stay standing for long, no matter how good a warrior he is," the Magnar said, while the others said nothing more. "Just donât kill himâŚ"
Daemon walked to the center of the arena, seeing the entrances close. Curious gazes came from above the pit, staring at him, with some even laughing.
He said nothing, only listening to the men whispering among themselves, saying he was going to lose. Then he heard the entrance open, and several people began to come out, all armed with iron â better than the bronze used by the free folk before they met Daemon.
"Give him a weapon!" the same man who had spoken to Daemon shouted, as someone picked up a sword and threw it, making it land near him.
"They say the people from the continent like swords⌠well, use it then," said the man who had thrown it, while Daemon looked at the weapon.
Daemon simply raised his hand toward the sword on the ground, and it flew into his grasp, leaving everyone staring in surprise, wondering what had just happened.
But he didnât care â he faced the ten men, who were a little unsettled before they began to circle him, believing it must have been some kind of trick.
"These are your best warriors?" Daemon asked calmly, looking upward, unconcerned about being surrounded by ten opponents.
The man only nodded before raising his voice.
"Begin!"
He expected to see the dragonborn on the ground in the next moment, but as soon as the first launched his attack, he had no time to react before receiving a punch straight to the middle of his face, right before he could move his right arm to try to strike Daemon. The blow caught him off guard and made him collapse to the ground, unconscious, immediately.
Another tried to attack from the side, but Daemon used the borrowed sword to deflect the axe and then struck the opponent with an elbow to the side of the head, knocking him out as well.
This took everyone by surprise, but two more were already on Daemon. He spun his body easily, blocking their swords and using punches to strike them in the head with enough force to leave them unconscious. When a fifth tried to attack, Daemon grabbed his hand before he could move the weapon, slammed his own forehead into the manâs face, and dropped him on the spot.
The last five men stared in shock at the scene. In just a few seconds, half of them were already down, some with bleeding noses, but all too dazed to feel the pain.
"Only five left," Daemon said with a smile, while the men in the arena stood stunned.
They charged again, but Daemon brought them down one by one, using the sword to defend himself while relying on his fists and even his feet to knock them out. He kneed the last one right in the head, hard enough to feel his nose break.
The man collapsed, and all that remained there was silence, while the gazes from above were filled with thoughts about what they had just witnessed.
He hadnât even exerted himself. He knew exactly where the attacks from his blind spots would come from, was fast enough to defend himself against four blades at once, and strong enough to push them back. No one had ever seen anything like what they saw today.
"Well, I think thatâs it," Daemon turned to the man who was speechless above the arena. "I believe Iâve won. The Magnar tribe should serve me from now on, correct?"
His voice echoed through the place amid the awkward silence. Upon hearing this, the man didnât know what to say.
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