Miceys Fandom Creations

Your son's dragon has hatched one crisp morning. From an egg as grey and smooth as a river stone, came a hatching with a tiny body, tinier bones, and soft little squeaks. The hatchling's scales were a deep purple-blue with flecks of bright green, as vibrant as a warm water fish from the Summer Isles.

"What are you naming her?" Jace asks as Luke feeds his hatching peeled grapes with his own tiny fingers. "I'll ask the maesters to release the ravens immediately."

Luke finishes feeding his dragon (which was a mercy because that little body was about to burst from the grapes, juicy sausage bits, half a chalice of beet juice, runny eggs, sticky honey tarts, and mint tea). His little face scrunches in contemplation. This was his greatest decision since he decided between riding on Morning with Aunt Rhaena, or Moondancer with Aunt Baela last week.

Jace gives a soft smile and ruffles Luke's curls. "I understand," he says. "This can be a difficult decision. But do not worry, a name will come to you. When your Aunt Rhaena saw Morning's pink scales, she saw her as a new dawn for our dynasty, and named her thus. Vermax himself was named after a god of Old Valyria, much like Syrax. In fact - "

"Beet juice!"

Jace's brow furrowed. "You want more beet juice?" he asks. He signals a servant for more.

"No!" Luke points at his dragon rolling in golden egg yolk. "This is Beet Juice!"

You almost choke on your own honey-frosted beet juice mixed with milk.

"Er." Jace looks to you for help with those pleading cow brown eyes. Your own eyes whisper no. "How about something that's not on the table?" He mutters.

"This is Beet Juice!" Luke repeats louder this time.

"That's hardly a proper dragon name," Jace says. "Remember, you're a Targaryen." 

"Your father's right," you finally say. Jace looks at you as if you've hung the stars and painted the flowers and were an Old Valyrian goddess that has taken human form and graced him with your presence (to be fair, that's how he usually looks at you). "How about Baehaet Jyuce?" All mirth as been banished from your face.

Jace looks at you as if you were the one who decided to serve beet juice on this fine morning (to be fair, you did). You can't help it. He's cute when you bother him.

Luke nods at you proudly. Laughter finally bursts from your ribs. The dragon in question flip-flaps her green-blue wings.

Jace tries again in a valiant effort. "Please Luke, what would the other dragons think? The spirits of other dragons? Syrax, Seasmoke, Moondancer, Morning. Stormcloud to Balerion the Black Dread himself?"

Luke's face twisted up again. You show your boys mercy. "Luke," you say, "imagine if the dragons were men. How might one of your companions feel if she were named Beet Juice? How may others treat a person with such a name?"

"I'll command everyone treat her kindly!" Luke declares with his little chest puffed out. "I gave the name, not her! No one may laugh at her."

Jace winces. You hate it when he's bothered by real problems or bad memories. He places his large lands on Luke's shoulders. "You can't always do that," he says gently. "There will always be people who whisper and say nasty words about what you can't control when your back is turned."

Luke's little shoulders slumped. "Vhagar will call her names," Luke states.

Jace hesitates. "Yes, Vhagar will call her names," he finally says.

You place a hand on Jace's shoulder. You share eye contact. Luke's betrothed has already been decided. His siblings and cousins will be maesters, knights, lords and ladies of keeps, or even move across the Narrow Sea to the great continent of Essos. Luke's path is the Iron Throne. Maybe he should be allowed to choose what he can for as long as he can, even if it means saddling his dragon with a humiliating name.

Luke brightens. "Snowflake!" he chirps. "She's Snowflake!" Snowflake has already collapsed, asleep and snoring on the plate. Absolutely nothing about her coloration, form, and manner indicated anything about winter.

Your son's dragon has hatched one crisp morning. From an egg as grey and smooth as a river stone, came a hatching with a tiny body, tinier bones, and soft little squeaks. The hatchling's scales were a deep purple-blue with flecks of bright green, as vibrant as a warm water fish from the Summer Isles.

"What are you naming her?" Jace asks as Luke feeds his hatching peeled grapes with his own tiny fingers. "I'll ask the maesters to release the ravens immediately."

Luke finishes feeding his dragon (which was a mercy because that little body was about to burst from the grapes, juicy sausage bits, half a chalice of beet juice, runny eggs, sticky honey tarts, and mint tea). His little face scrunches in contemplation. This was his greatest decision since he decided between riding on Morning with Aunt Rhaena, or Moondancer with Aunt Baela last week.

Jace gives a soft smile and ruffles Luke's curls. "I understand," he says. "This can be a difficult decision. But do not worry, a name will come to you. When your Aunt Rhaena saw Morning's pink scales, she saw her as a new dawn for our dynasty, and named her thus. Vermax himself was named after a god of Old Valyria, much like Syrax. In fact - "

"Beet juice!"

Jace's brow furrowed. "You want more beet juice?" he asks. He signals a servant for more.

"No!" Luke points at his dragon rolling in golden egg yolk. "This is Beet Juice!"

You almost choke on your own honey-frosted beet juice mixed with milk.

"Er." Jace looks to you for help with those pleading cow brown eyes. Your own eyes whisper no. "How about something that's not on the table?" He mutters.

"This is Beet Juice!" Luke repeats louder this time.

"That's hardly a proper dragon name," Jace says. "Remember, you're a Targaryen." 

"Your father's right," you finally say. Jace looks at you as if you've hung the stars and painted the flowers and were an Old Valyrian goddess that has taken human form and graced him with your presence (to be fair, that's how he usually looks at you). "How about Baehaet Jyuce?" All mirth as been banished from your face.

Jace looks at you as if you were the one who decided to serve beet juice on this fine morning (to be fair, you did). You can't help it. He's cute when you bother him.

Luke nods at you proudly. Laughter finally bursts from your ribs. The dragon in question flip-flaps her green-blue wings.

Jace tries again in a valiant effort. "Please Luke, what would the other dragons think? The spirits of other dragons? Syrax, Seasmoke, Moondancer, Morning. Stormcloud to Balerion the Black Dread himself?"

Luke's face twisted up again. You show your boys mercy. "Luke," you say, "imagine if the dragons were men. How might one of your companions feel if she were named Beet Juice? How may others treat a person with such a name?"

"I'll command everyone treat her kindly!" Luke declares with his little chest puffed out. "I gave the name, not her! No one may laugh at her."

Jace winces. You hate it when he's bothered by real problems or bad memories. He places his large lands on Luke's shoulders. "You can't always do that," he says gently. "There will always be people who whisper and say nasty words about what you can't control when your back is turned."

Luke's little shoulders slumped. "Vhagar will call her names," Luke states.

Jace hesitates. "Yes, Vhagar will call her names," he finally says.

You place a hand on Jace's shoulder. You share eye contact. Luke's betrothed has already been decided. His siblings and cousins will be maesters, knights, lords and ladies of keeps, or even move across the Narrow Sea to the great continent of Essos. Luke's path is the Iron Throne. Maybe he should be allowed to choose what he can for as long as he can, even if it means saddling his dragon with a humiliating name.

Luke brightens. "Snowflake!" he chirps. "She's Snowflake!" Snowflake has already collapsed, asleep and snoring on the plate. Absolutely nothing about her coloration, form, and manner indicated anything about winter.