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Summary
The potent winds steal Aemond’s breath, and he can only clutch the saddle with dear life in the rising, the powerful force and strange movements were not in any book or lesson the dragonkeepers taught them, there is no clear rhythm either as the flapping of the wings are quickly followed by the backing of the legs. He feels the cold of the night stripping the thin gashes on his face, renewing the flow and hissing pain there. A poignant reminder of the little price paid, he stared up a dragon with his fresh blood on it and now he is riding it, Aemond grounds himself in that, holding firmly the ropes, proud to watch the dragon turning his head in recognition. Clanking the undone clasp near his legs to get a better grip on the seat, he swallows the fresh night air and howls with elation, Aemond Targaryen soaring the skies, lastly, a dragonrider.
Series
- Part 2 of Blood of the Dragon
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Bookmark Notes:
Aemond lets go of the dragon, marching resolutely to his saddle, Caraxes obliges without an order, lowering himself for access. He hears the other children behind him, first with some doubt then in clear support, he thinks about his siblings, about the other Velaryon and their parents hopefully still ignorant of their location; he thinks about the deceased uncle, the one man that could get away with being disrespectful to the Crown, to the Council, to the King, to good manners and tradition. He touches the burnished dark wood, the red leather beautifully carved in intricate drawings, a saddle for a prince.
“ Soves ! Caraxes, soves !”
The dragon shakes himself, raising his head high, taking a few steps back before launching on a powerful run, barely missing and stomping over the children and two little dragons.
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Bookmark Notes:
A good wingman
1sillysissy1