Prince Aemond Targaryen
By the end of the flight, Sunfyre had clearly begun to tire. From the cloud-piercing heights, the dragon descended first below the line of white-grey clouds, and a couple of hours ter began to drop even lower, finding himself only a few dozen feet above the grey waves of the churning Narrow Sea. Flying on dragonback also proved none too comfortable: legs grew numb, forced to dangle on either side of the too-wide saddle; a tense back ached, begging for rest and support; hands unprotected by gloves froze in the sea wind; chains meant to ensure their safety rattled like the shackles of prisoners. Aemond gradually came to the conclusion that the idea of flying to Dragonstone was not the best thought to have visited his brother's head.
And the flight was unbearably boring. Aegon, sitting in front, had paid him no attention at all for the st couple of hours, not even turning around. Aemond made no attempts to engage him in conversation—the wind would have carried his words away behind his back and thrown them into the foamy whitecaps of the grey-blue waves anyway. At first, while they were still flying over the capital, the Prince gazed in admiration at the Red Keep, the Queen's Sept, the Dragonpit, the mansions and hovels fshing below. Then, when Aegon turned the dragon toward the sea by their agreement, he enjoyed the boundless expanse that opened up, where above and below was only the abyss, Aemond felt for the first time the freedom a dragon gives a Targaryen. Envy and the feeling of his own inadequacy receded before an incomparable, pure delight, but it proved not eternal, and gradually hunger, fatigue from the uncomfortable saddle, and the monotonous seascape dispced it.
Sunfyre growled discontentedly and resentfully: evidently, he had not counted on such a long outing. Everyone who heard the dragon's voice agreed that there was something bird-like in it, and even now it seemed to Aemond that he was not growling but chirping, and somehow foolishly at that. He was young, of course, but did all young dragons have such voices? Probably Balerion chirped too when he was little.
"We won't make it!" Aemond shouted into his elder brother's ear. A little more and their wings would touch the waves...
The other jerked his shoulder, hitting the younger Prince on the chin so hard he bit his tongue, and barely turning his head back shouted in response:
"We'll make it! Don't croak!"
Aemond took offense and fell silent. Mother and the septons said that in a moment of danger one should offer a prayer to the Seven-Who-Are-One, and the gods would surely answer the plea of their faithful child. The Prince considered himself just such a child, but the words of the prayer to the Father Above for deliverance from sorrows fell completely out of his head after the third line, and from the prayer to the Crone for guidance on the true path, he remembered only the address to the Lantern of Wisdom and the Lamp of Hope. The more diligently Aemond tried to reproduce the pages of the "Book of Holy Prayers," the less remained in his memory, and the angrier he became at himself—Septon Jeffery had praised him for learning the prayers, so where had they gone?
It turned out foolishly with this flight, of course. They had barely managed to persuade Father to let them fly, and with a bunch of offensive conditions, as if the three of them—Aegon, Sunfyre, and himself—were taken for small children. Even Daeron was more independent!
When Ser Criston finally released them from training, exhausted and rubbing the spots of future bruises, the brothers, having barely changed clothes, hurried to the Dragonpit. On the way, Aegon brought his horse up to Aemond's and suggested in an undertone to fly longer and further than Father had permitted. Dragonstone was chosen as the goal: the route from the isnd to the capital was already familiar to Sunfyre, he could now carry two riders, and there should be no one in the old castle except the casteln—Uncle with Rhaenyra and the cousins had returned to Tyrosh. Aemond tried to dissuade his brother, but he brought up one more argument:
"Oh come on, don't be a coward! We'll at least find you a dragon," and all objections fell away.
Circling over the city for appearance's sake, they swept over the Red Keep and flew out into the sea expanse. There was no one to stop them—besides Aegon, there were no dragon riders in the capital, Father with his lectures remained in his study alone with his model, and others certainly could not hinder them.
"There! And you said 'we won't make it'!" Aegon's triumphant excmation tore his younger brother from a heap of half-empty pages with holy words and regrets about what he had done. His brother threw his hand forward; following the pointing finger, Aemond saw a small dark spot on the horizon—Dragonstone.
So the gods had heard his clumsy, broken prayers! But the isnd was still so far away...
With secret hope, Aemond watched as the Dragonmont rose from the waters of the Narrow Sea, growing rger and rger, and Sunfyre seemed to fp his wings more lively, striving to reach nd. The Prince recalled that the isnd had several coastal cliffs, and hoped his brother would manage to keep his dragon from nding on one of them. Sunfyre, of course, would plop down to sleep as soon as he touched the ground. Aemond did not judge him for this, but he would like to be able to go to sleep himself, and not hungry on rocks fouled by birds, but after a hot supper and in a warm bed.
Suddenly a shadow covered them, and Sunfyre clucked anxiously; in response, a low, guttural rumble was heard from above, which could have been taken for peals of thunder had they been in the very center of a storm. The princes, without a word, craned their necks: a huge dragon blocked the sun above them. The flying mountain barely paid attention to the golden trifle, only slightly moved its hornless head, and zily fpped its wings again, as if intending to embrace the whole world with them.
"Vhagar," Aemond exhaled in shock.
The Prince felt rather than heard that his brother said something. Most likely, there was nothing fttering in his words about the old she-dragon who had frightened his dragon and, surely, himself. Even when they were just looking for a dragon for Aegon, he barely gnced at Vhagar and branded her ugly. This empty bravado deceived neither the adults, nor Aemond, nor their cousins—his brother was simply afraid.
Aemond himself had not seen Vhagar up close before, but paradoxically felt no fear, only surprised admiration: just think, this hulk could truly fly, her size spoke of age clearer than all words and maester chronicles—Vhagar had seen times before the Conquest itself! The mere thought of the years she had lived and the deeds she had done was awe-inspiring. She had carried Queen Visenya and Prince Baelon the Brave, his grandfather, fought on the Field of Fire, burned Dornish castles with Balerion and Dornish ships with Vermithor and Caraxes.
As if in response to the Prince's thoughts, the majestic she-dragon roared, announcing her arrival to Dragonstone. Sunfyre, evidently wishing to rehabilitate himself before his rider for cowardice and fright, also let out a trill, but it sounded offended and even pitiful against the background of the thunderous roar; it was unlikely to be heard even in the port, let alone the castle.
Aegon's dragon, demonstrating bravery bordering on insolence, worked his wings more actively and began to rise to the same level as Vhagar. She tilted her head slightly in their direction, surveyed them with a huge eye like a massive bronze ptter, and gave a short roar, sending jets of smoke from her nostrils; Sunfyre understood the warning the first time and did not shorten the distance between them, but neither did he intend to fall behind.
For a time, the giant and the midget with fleas on his back flew side by side; Aegon concentrated on the flight and his dragon again, and Aemond could not tear his gaze from Vhagar—so captivated was he by her power, in which a special, severe beauty could also be discerned. The Prince noticed there was no saddle on the she-dragon's back. On the one hand, it was logical that after Grandfather's death the Dragonkeepers had unsaddled her; on the other hand, Aemond could not imagine how anyone could approach such a huge beast without the rider's will. Father did not eborate on this topic, just as he did not like to talk about his own dragon, and the uncles did not mention it either.
The thought of the te rider forced the Prince to count the years passed since his grandfather's death: it turned out it was already the twenty-first year. Gods, how lonely she must be...
Meanwhile, fishing boats, the dark alleys of Dragonport, and the ancestral stronghold itself fshed beneath them; Vhagar still did not descend, and Sunfyre, evidently, did not wish to fall behind her.
"Embrot! Dēmās, Vēsperzys! (Down! Sit, Sunfyre!)" Aegon shouted, and only then did the beast reluctantly obey. He was not the only one who did not want to say goodbye.
Letting out a new trill, as if bidding farewell to the elder dragon, he folded his wings and dived down. Gliding over a small field and frightening the sheep grazing on it, Sunfyre nded on the crest of a low hill. The nding was not very soft: the dragon thumped onto the rocks so that Aemond was thrown up in the saddle and smmed against Aegon's back—had they not been strapped in, they would have toppled onto the ground entirely, right under Sunfyre's paws. Realizing what a stupid death the gods had saved him from, the Prince hesitated, for which he immediately received a poke from his brother:
"Get off me, you ckwit! We've arrived."
Aemond leaned back and caught his breath. Aegon had already freed himself from the chains and slid down, and was now trying to attract Sunfyre's attention. Finally, he somehow managed to grab him by the snout, and burying his forehead in it, his brother muttered something in High Valyrian.
"S?z, s?z… Lykirī… Dokimare zaldrīzes… (Good, good... Calmly... Good dragon...)"
The dragon answered him with a guttural clucking that made Aemond's insides tremble, and in the dragon's voice, along with compints, accusations, dissatisfaction, and hunger could be felt.
"Are you going to sit there forever?" Aegon called to his brother.
"J-just a moment!"
He could not master his voice immediately, and the Prince hoped the rider and dragon were too absorbed in exchanging impressions to pay attention. Otherwise, Aegon would mock him ter, trumpet all over the court that his brother was a coward and afraid of flying. Having somehow got rid of the chains, Aemond carefully climbed out of the saddle, checking thoroughly that there was always a rope loop under his foot—he did not want to crack his forehead open like Aegon after the first flight. Once on the ground, the Prince swayed slightly but stayed on his feet.
"Well, didn't shit yourself?" his brother inquired of him, tearing himself away from his precious dragon. "Mind you, you'll wash your own shit off the saddle yourself!"
"No," Aemond cut him off sullenly, and demonstratively shook out the cloak in which he had wrapped himself the entire flight.
"Then let's go," the other commanded.
"Where?"
"What do you mean where? To the castle, naturally."
"And the dragon? You promised we'd look for a dragon for me!"
"Are you completely stupid? Who looks for a dragon at nightfall?"
The obvious thought dawned on Aemond like dragon fire, and the Prince realized he had been thinking about this the entire st part of their flight.
"I don't need anyone looked for. There's my dragon," he said and waved his hand toward the neighboring valley where Vhagar had nded.
"No, you really are stupid," Aegon drawled with conviction. "I won't drag myself after you."
"As if I need you to!" the Prince threw at his brother and began to descend the hill.
"Stop! Where..." came after him, but Aemond did not turn around. His brother already had a dragon; he could no longer understand what it was like to be dragonless. He probably managed to forget about those times, although he had been flying himself for a year less two months.
Small stones flew from under his feet, his legs, walking on the ground again, trembled slightly, and only one thought spun in his head: Vhagar, today, now.
---------------
Read advance +50 chapters on my
(.)com/WinterScribe
