The Red Dragon
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33. The Song of Serpents
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 18:36:55 +0000 UTCThe Twins, Riverlands
“So, what do you think?” asked Daeron, looking at the map of the Riverlands and then to Ser Arthur Dayne. He had explained to Arthur his plan of dividing the army into smaller units of around five thousand men each, sending them in all directions to cleanse the land of riverlords from outlaws. Once order was restored, these lords would be told to march to Harrenhal with the men Daeron sent to aid them.
“These outlaws should be made examples of, so that others don’t get any ideas about rising again once the riverlords leave their keeps to march with you, Your Grace,” Arthur added, wearing the same stony expression he always did.
“Hmm. Aye, I should order that as well. A rope, right in the middle of town, in places where all can see the price of defying the law. That should instill enough fear,” Daeron said, and Arthur nodded.
“Your Grace, you must assign the leaders of these small armies with great care—and with wise counsel,” Arthur continued, his tone grim. “We’ve seen that Baelish had support from a few Vale lords. Giving such lords freedom and control of their armies again is asking for trouble. And the riverlords… you should not trust them so easily. Their knees have bent once to the Lannisters, and there are always those greedy for glory or wealth. Trusting them too much could prove dangerous.”
“Come now, Ser Arthur. You can’t truly blame them,” Daeron replied. “You and I both know these are times when kings die like flies, and new ones rise just as quickly. If they wish to preserve their houses, bending the knee is the only choice. Otherwise, they risk complete destruction, as so many have already seen in these past years. Still, I will heed your counsel. I’ll command the lords to stay vigilant, to be wary—and not end up like my brother, Robb Stark.” Daeron nodded to himself. He would warn them. Perhaps even assign each one a raven, which he could skinchange into to keep eyes on their movements.
“You also need to consider the issue the Faith might raise once they confirm your mystical powers. How will you deal with them?” asked Ser Arthur, his face weary. The only Kingsguard of Daeron looked truly troubled—perhaps already thinking of how to face the situation if it came knocking.
“Now I regret not capturing a wight and letting it loose in the Starry Sept,” Daeron muttered with a smirk. “But you worry too much, Ser Arthur. My supernatural strength might simply be seen as a warrior’s blessing. I intend to follow the Old King’s proven method for silencing the Faith. The Doctrine of Exceptionalism must be reminded to the realm once again. I would love to see the High Septon try to burn white walkers and wights—or fight them with his poor fellows, or any other fools he can summon.” Daeron dismissed the thought of the Faith. He had greater threats to concern himself with.
“Even so, I implore you to hide the more… obscene abilities. Like commanding snakes,” Arthur said with a slight shiver, recalling Daeron hissing at the serpents and watching them obey.
Daeron laughed, watching the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne shiver at the memory. “You’re still afraid of Parseltongue? I thought you’d be used to it by now, considering you hear me speak it nearly every day,” he said, grinning.
“No one can get used to that. I don’t know why the Old Gods would bless you with such a gift—not that it’s useful except for commanding snakes. And even they can do little more than poison one man before being killed by another. But that sound… it could give nightmares to anyone who hears it. I dare say it’s more terrifying than a dragon’s roar. When you speak it, I feel a deep unease in my bones, as if humans were never meant to hear such a tongue—and Your Grace, you were never meant to speak it. That’s why I call it otherworldly, and not in a good way,” Arthur explained, his eyes meeting Daeron’s. The king saw real discomfort in his Kingsguard.
“And yet, the Children of the Forest laughed—truly laughed—for the first time since I met them when they heard me speak Parseltongue,” Daeron replied, remembering the earthsingers’ delighted reaction, so unlike Arthur’s.
Arthur sighed. “Yes, they did. I wonder why,” he said, with a touch of sarcasm. “The Song of Serpents. They love all things of the forest and nature. Of course they’d love your language, Your Grace.”
“Hmm… Ser Arthur, what do you think about me singing a song in Parseltongue?” Daeron asked. The Earthsingers had called his ability The Song of Serpents, and since then, Daeron had felt a strange pull—an urge to sing in that tongue, as if something deep within him was urging it.
[You should do that. I doubt it will be just normal singing. As normal as singing in Parseltongue can be.] The voice of Aether suddenly stirred in Daeron’s mind. He was surprised; Aether rarely spoke unless she was teaching High Valyrian to him.
[Because I see no reason to disturb you, as you are very occupied these days.] Acceptable. With a snort, Aether fell silent again. Daeron mentally added singing in Parseltongue to his to-do list and returned to the present, catching Arthur’s uneasy expression.
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” Arthur said slowly. “I am your Kingsguard and will follow and protect you with my life… though I may protect you from afar at that time, perhaps,” he added with a weak smile, though his eyes told another story.
“I’ll think about it. But you really should hear it. How else would I know if I inherited the Silver Prince’s voice?” Daeron said. Arthur grimaced at that and muttered a curse, but in the end, a melancholic look overcame his face.
0~~~~~**~~~~~0
Daeron closed his eyes to rest after returning from consulting with Galbert Glover and Maege Mormont. They had traveled from Seagard to the North, and now he would be taking them both back to Seagard—where, according to reports, some Freys might still be present. The lord and heir of House Mallister were said to be held captive within their own keep.
Before sleep claimed him, Daeron warged into Ghost. He had assigned a simple task to his furry companion to hunt down outlaws across the Riverlands. In the blink of an eye, Daeron’s consciousness slipped into Ghost’s mind, his senses sharpening to an extreme degree. By now, he was more familiar with the process, having practiced warging into Ghost whenever time allowed.
Ghost was standing tall, watching as his pack feasted on human flesh. At least ten bodies lay strewn on the ground—along with two horses and some crude weapons. No armor. Likely bandits or poachers. Daeron nudged Ghost’s mind, and the direwolf responded with brief, vivid flashes of memory. These men had attempted to hunt Ghost’s pack and ended up being hunted instead.
Noting Ghost’s location, Daeron was about to pull away from the bond when Ghost nudged him to stay. A scent, then an image, filled his mind—a wolf pup, no larger than a hound, with grey fur and dark golden eyes. Nymeria.
Ghost was approaching her territory. That was the warning.
Daeron knew that if Arya couldn’t control Nymeria as he did Ghost, a confrontation was inevitable. Nymeria, the queen of her own vast pack, would not submit or cooperate simply because Ghost was her brother. She was a ruler in her own right. If things escalated, only one might walk away—and Daeron didn’t like either outcome. They were possibly the last of their kind, with the White Walkers beyond the Wall killing everything with warm blood.
And then there was Arya.
He didn’t understand why she was avoiding him. It hurt more than he cared to admit. The emotional residue left by this body’s former self ran deep, and Daeron hadn’t been able to sever it, no matter how hard he tried. Whenever he thought of her, the urge to seek her out overwhelmed him. To find her, to confront her, to ask why she stayed away.
But instead, he buried himself in duty. It was the only thing he could do. And there was much to be done.
Daeron acknowledged Ghost’s message and withdrew from his companion’s mind. Ghost had paused his meal out of respect for the bond, as he always did. Somehow, Ghost seemed to understand the unspoken rules of warging—and tried to keep Daeron from breaking them.
Satisfied that Ghost had begun his task, Daeron allowed himself to relax. His friend could rest for now. Because come morning, the Riverlands would be watered not only with water but blood as well. Dragonfire by day, the silent cold, and the merciless hunting of wolves by night.
The song of Ice and Fire would be sung in the Riverlands.
I’ve been toying with the idea of making Parseltongue singing have a range of powerful effects on those who hear it, whether it’s healing, inducing sleep, stirring emotions, or even causing pain. The idea is to explore Parseltongue as something far more than just snake-speech as it was in the HP world.
What do you think of this? I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you have any creative suggestions or ideas to expand it further, feel free to share!
