Chapter 29: Set Your Wings Free
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Aenar Targaryen
Death sits heavily on her bones. The stench, the idea, the wonderment. It all weighs her down until she's been consumed by it. At night, she dreams of ragged green cloaks with streaks of reddish-brown dragging down the cloth.
Alicent is quiet as she goes down the main corridor, for the Realm's Delight slept in the chambers down the East Hallway, tucked away in gowns of silk and satin. Aemma Arryn kept her chambers in the same direction, and she was known for being a light sleeper, often prone to going to the gardens in the early evening. With the flickering of a dimming flame, she guides herself to the wall, laying her head against it slowly. The wall was warm and dark, safe and rough.
"My lady?"
Her eyes open wearily. She was exhausted, tired beyond just sleep. Shining purple eyes stared back at her with such....
Light.
"Do you need help-- Lady Alicent!"
It takes her a long moment to realize who she spoke to, and it sends ice through her veins, for she takes much too long to bow low to him. Her curtsy takes her low, a hair's breadth away from the ground, and Prince Viserys smiles when she rises.
"Lady Alicent, do you remember me?"
How could I? You barely glanced at me that day we met, for I was a shy child, and you were a handsome boy.
He's man, yet his smile was the rising of a youthful sun that burned bright for the first time. He was tall beyond belief, towering over her with the most lovely silver-gold hair that reflected a soft orange from the flickering flames around them. It shone like a halo of fire, a crown for a Targaryen king, and Alicent felt overwhelmed at the sight of him.
"I was going to ask, Lady Alicent if you needed me to escort you to your chambers, for I thought you a maiden lost." Prince Viserys takes her offered hand, kissing the edge of her knuckles in a way that sends a flame back through her until every part feels warm.
Alicent cannot help herself.
She laughs.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Prince Viserys watches her face for a long moment. "Are you sad, Lady Alicent?" He stepped back from her, eyes furrowed thoughtfully. "Where are you going, my lady? It's very late. A lady shouldn't be alone, even here in the Keep."
"I don't know. I suppose I was just walking."
The Prince beams, "Can I walk with you? Perhaps I can cheer you. My wife is asleep, and I'm restless myself." He offers her his arm, bending it so she might slip her own into it. It's not a gesture taken lightly, for anyone who saw them may gossip of a married man with the Hand's ambitious young daughter. Surely, he should be embarrassed to be with a woman wearing an out-of-fashion dress with unplaited hair.
She gently placed her arm into his, keeping a loose grip, following him as he guided them from the main chambers towards the balconies that offered a wide view of King's Landing.
"I'm not a man of many wise words, so I won't be good conversation." Prince Viserys whispers to her, eyes shining with amused apologies. "But I'd like to think I'm clever enough-- or maybe it's humor, I mean to say. I'm not a fool, but I think I can make you laugh."
Alicent feels warm. Has the hallway, even in the dark, been so bright? Surely not! She remembers briefly that she had met this man once before, barely managing to tell him her name before Princess Rhaenyra called for him.
"Well, let's see, shall we?"
"There was a noble man once, very big. Very fat." Viserys made a point to hit his own broad chest, and though he was plump, he was not so fat. "And as he came across King's Landing, he asked of another traveler: 'Good sir, do you suppose I can go through the gate?' He meant would the guards let him in without any papers. The traveler looked him up and down. And he said, 'Of course, my lord, for if a dragon could fit through, I'm sure you can too.'"
Alicent giggles into her free hand. It wasn't so funny, for she had heard it before, but her laughter came out like the ringing of the guard bells, loud and sudden and changing. Breath leaves her as her laughter spills out around her fingers, and she trembles from her own hysterics. Prince Viserys watches her and laughs, too, with mirth in his purple eyes. It was a cathartic moment of utter relief. When had she last laughed?
In all these years, this moment of goodness feels long overdue.
"Ah! So I could be a fool yet!"
Alicent shakes, "Oh yes, my lord, the greatest of the fools. Truly, the greatest."
Prince Viserys smiles and bows dramatically.
She feels like she's close to home for the first time in many years. She looks up at him, this prince, this future king.
Aenar Targaryen
' "You think because you have Dragons, you can do whatever you want!!"
"I could say the same for you; Arthur told me all about your "bravery," using poison to kill the Lord's son. Because of your status, you thought you were untouchable."
"Watch your words, Bastard. I won't have you shame me in my own home."
"This is no longer your home; Princess Arianne is the heir, not you," Aenar shouted, venom in every word, trying to keep control of himself; his hand more than once grasped the pommel of his sword; even Ghost could be heard growling outside. Now he was scratching the door, letting Aenar know that he wanted to walk inside, but Aenar remembered Rhaenys. They were her family. He had promised her, and he would keep his word, at least try to.
"Rhaenys wants us to be friends, I will try for her sake. Will you?"
"Friends, you say, I once called Arthur a friend until he decided to run after your father like a lost puppy. He forgot all about being a Dornish." He spoke with repulsion, looking at Aenar with a sneer. "Will Rhaenys's child be the heir?"
"Princess Daenerys's child will be heir, that is not changing."
"Everything can change, Prince Aenar. Everything." '
Aenar woke up with a sudden gasp, his heart racing and cold sweat rolling down his face. As he caught his breath, he looked around the dimly lit room with anxious eyes, trying to distinguish the line between his dream and reality. His hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and his mind was still clouded with the vivid images of his nightmare. But as he gazed out the window and saw the Narrow Sea, he slowly came to his senses and remembered where he was.
He took comfort in the familiar sights and smells that surrounded him. Despite the lingering fear from his dream, Aenar felt a sense of relief wash over him as he realized he was safe and sound.
As he lay on the bed, his chest heaving with each breath, he could feel his heart racing at an alarming pace as if it was trying to escape from his body. Despite his attempts to calm himself down, his mind was still racing with thoughts that refused to be silenced. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and trickled down his face, leaving a cold, clammy sensation in their wake. The sweat continued to stream down his cheeks, leaving a trail of moisture on the bed mattress. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, but the sound of his heart pounding in his throat was too loud to ignore.
Breathe in and out, breathe in and out, Aenar reminded himself as his breathing was slowly going back to normal. As he slowly lifted his legs over the sturdy bed frame, his toes made contact with the frigid, unyielding surface of the chamber's stone floor, causing an involuntary shudder to course through his entire body.
Despite the chill, his eyes were immediately drawn towards the center of the room, where a beautiful black Oriental carpet lay, its intricate design featuring the unmistakable red sigil of House Targaryen stitched right in its very center. The carpet's rich colors seemed to glow against the cool, dark stone of the chamber, and as he gazed upon it.
Aenar took a deep breath; the air filled his lungs, and the sound of waves crashing down below against the rocks and the shore reached his ears; the joy Aenar felt whenever he was at Dragonstone was gone; even the sun was hiding behind the clouds, clouds everywhere, it looked ready to rain.
Aenar remembered when his song had ended, his eyes had found the King's chest no longer rising; he had nudged him, shook him, before shouting for help; the Kingsguards had rushed inside, and it didn't take long for the Maester to walk inside, but he simply confirmed what Aenar had already known, the King had died, Aenar had seen many people die, the way their body stopped moving, he had seen it too many times.
The same night, they sailed from King's Landing to Dragonstone with the fastest ship they had; the rest of the royal family had taken a second ship. Aenar had tried to say something to his great grandmother knowing she was grieving, but she had told him that she needed to be alone; Aenar had respected her wishes, and had spent the night with Rhaenyra, and Aemma who told them tales, trying to cheer them up.
Unlike Aenar, Rhaenyra didn't really understand the whole magnitude of what was happening, but she understood that their great-grandfather was gone, and because everyone else was sad, she too had cried as they sailed to Dragonstone; Aenar had taken it upon himself to be there for her.
Knowing Dragons were faster than ravens, Daemon had been sent to Driftmark to inform the Velaryons of the King's death and that he would be burned in Dragonstone the next morning.
Aenar remembered them sailing towards Dragonstone during the night, but he didn't remember arriving there; he only remembered being carried by Ser Ryam to his chamber. He also remembered his father wishing him good night, but Aenar wasn't sure when it had happened.
As Aenar stood there, his heart heavy with sorrow and grief, he could feel the intense heat radiating from his eyes, unshed tears threatening to escape. However, he summoned every ounce of strength within him to suppress the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him. Determined not to let anyone witness his pain. After all, this wasn't the first time he had experienced the heart-wrenching loss of those dear to him.
With measured strides, Aenar gracefully traversed the chamber; his eyes fixated on the balcony. As he ventured onto the precipice, a cascade of curtains, intricately woven with shimmering silver threads, swayed in rhythmic harmony with the gentle breeze, casting ethereal shadows upon the stonework. The wind caressed his face, carrying with it the briny aroma of the nearby sea. In this moment of solitude, delicate water droplets descended from the sky, landing softly upon his upturned visage. Aenar looked at the sun on the horizon, but it was obscured by an imposing tapestry of dense clouds that stretched across the vast expanse of the sky, shrouding it in a chilling embrace reminiscent of a cold, dark blanket.
Aenar's purple eyes looked at Vermithor; the poor dragon had been grieving since Jaehaerys's death. The dragon would always spend time with Silverwing, but since Jaehaerys's death, he refused to be in the presence of anyone; every time a dragon came close to him, Vermithor would roar at them, a warning to stay away from him, his father had told everyone that they shouldn't approach Vermithor, saying right now he was dangerous to everyone.
Aenar closed his eyes, trying to imagine their faces; he wanted to remember them; he remembered their voices.
Aenar opened his eyes; he could still hear their voices; he wanted to hear them again; despite everything that happened, he still wanted to see them again.
"Why? Why is there so much blood? Aenar, where's our daughter?"
As Aenar stood there, he couldn't help but take a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the weight of the past press upon his chest. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and sorrow. Despite the passage of time, the memories of that fateful day flooded back to him, as vivid as ever. The scent of blood and tears hung heavy in the air, intertwining with the bitter taste of betrayal. He remembered what House Martell had done.
Martells, Aenar repeated the name, his blood boiling just at the thought of them, snakes, all of them. He had tried, he truly had, for Rhaenys's sake, but they showed their colors. Eventually, they were snakes through and through, all lies, just like the Lannisters.
Aenar's eyes went to Cannibal; the dragon was sleeping even closer than ever before. Usually, he would go back to his cave, but today, Aenar saw him sleeping on a green grass field; burned bones of animals he ate surrounded the place he slept.
Aenar suddenly felt a little nudge on his hand; he looked down to see Ghost leaning his head forward, ever so lightly touching Aenar's hand. Aenar's fingers glided effortlessly across Ghost's pristine white fur. The Direwolf fixated his gaze upon Aenar, seemingly expressing genuine concern as if understanding the burden that weighed upon his master's heart.
"I'm alright, boy; at least you are still with me," Aenar murmured, his voice cracking, his mind going back to that day. Why? Why Daenerys? Aenar asked himself repeatedly, closing his eyes. He could still hear her screams, hugging a tiny body against her chest, but instead of the baby's cries, the girl was silent and cold.
Knock
As the heavy wooden door swung open with a creak, Aenar's sharp gaze caught his father's unmistakable presence, his silvery locks shimmering like moonlight against the darkness of his attire. Aenar's heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with his father, whose expression remained stoic and impenetrable. Time seemed to stand still as Aenar hesitated for a fleeting moment, gathering the courage before stepping forward to meet his father, mirroring his every move with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.
"Kepa, are we cursed?"
Daemon's body tensed, a fleeting moment of apprehension washing over him before he enveloped his little son in a tight embrace, the warmth of his love radiating through every fiber of his being. His son nestled his head upon Daemon's broad shoulder, seeking solace and security. Daemon pressed a gentle kiss upon the crown of his son's head, a silent reassurance that he was there, steadfast and protective. Deep within his heart, a pang of sorrow resonated, for he despised the fact that his young son, with innocence still twinkling in his eyes, was burdened with such profound inquiries.
"Why did you say that?" Daemon questioned softly, hoping no one had told that Aenar behind his back; Daemon would never let that slide.
"Why do people keep dying? Why are we still alive and not them? Why am I still alive and not Mom, not Rha..." As Aenar inquired, his voice trembled with a poignant crack and trailed off into the air, carrying with it an unexpected weight of maturity. At the tender age of seven, his youthful innocence juxtaposed against the gravitas his words carried, leaving Daemon with an inexplicable sensation that the voice emanating from Aenar belonged not to a mere child but to someone much older.
Daemon sat on the edge of the bed, Aenar by his side. The room was filled with a serene quietness as they both gazed out the window. Aenar's head nestled comfortably on Daemon's broad shoulder, finding solace in the warmth of his father's embrace. With a gentle touch, Daemon's hand traced soothing circles on Aenar's back. As a father, Daemon understood the tender vulnerability of youth, recognizing that even the strongest hearts needed guidance and affection.
"Aenar, when I was two name days, my mother told me and Viserys that we would soon have a new brother or sister. Viserys said that it would be a new sister, but I just knew it was a new brother. I dreamed of him, Swordfighting, flying together with dragons. I couldn't wait for the day I would meet him," Daemon's voice cracked at the end, feeling his eyes welling up; he felt vulnerable, an emotion he showed only with Aenar, no one else, not even with Viserys.
Aenar didn't know what to say, but he knew the feeling; he remembered how much he had waited for the birth of his first daughter; he had waited beside Daenerys for hours, but in the end, instead of tears of joy, Aenar had let out tears of sorrow and pain.
"The day my mother started having her labor, I saw her through a small crack in the door; she was in pain, and she screamed, but instead of being there for her, I ran away. I couldn't bear to look at her in that state, so I ran as far as I could until I couldn't hear her screams. Viserys found me three hours later and walked me to my chamber. There, we waited until our father walked inside. He told us our mother was gone." Daemon said, his voice cracking even more, but he kept his tears inside, his son's head still resting on his shoulder.
"That same night, my father took me and Viserys to look at Aegon; he opened his eyes for the first time and looked at us; he was so small and innocent. The next day, he was gone too." Daemon continued, his eyes welling up with tears, but again, he refused to cry before lifting his son's chin upwards to look at him, at his eyes.
"I never told you, but your eyes, you have Aegon's eyes."
"I do!"
"Yes, and despite my mother and little brother's passing, I felt guilty, feeling that if I had been there for her, she would have lived, but eventually, I still found happiness, and now I have you. Your mother brought me the greatest treasure I could ever think of; she was the joy of my life, as you are. Sometimes, I look at you and I still can't believe you are real. I want you to remember that I will never leave you; our roads might one day split," Daemon continued, speaking from the bottom of his heart, before hugging his son close. Aenar hugged him back, his little arms around his broad shoulders.
"No matter what. I will love you always."
"I love you too, Kepa." Aenar choked out, feeling all the sadness and sorrow he had felt for so long burst out, everything he had felt for so long, the guilt he had felt, he was still alive, why him and not them, Robb's death, Arya's death, Daenerys and Rhaenys, his beautiful children, all of them were gone. Aenar had felt all that and more for so long, and now, he couldn't handle it anymore.
In the midst of agony, Aenar's anguished cry reverberated through the air, echoing as if it carried the weight of his shattered heart. As tears cascaded down his cheeks, mingling with the warmth of his father's embrace, Aenar clung to the solace of his presence. His father's gentle whispers, like a soothing melody, wrapped around him, reminding him that he was not alone in his pain. With each sob that wracked his body, Aenar felt the torrents of his sorrow unleash like an inferno against his trembling cheek. Time seemed to blur as he surrendered to the depths of his anguish, losing track of the hours that stretched into an eternity. When his sobs finally subsided, leaving behind the storm's remnants, Aenar couldn't help but embrace the faint glimmer of relief that washed over him.
He felt as if a huge weight was suddenly lifted off his shoulder. As if a burden he had been carrying had disappeared.
"You keep running away from what you can't escape. But don't you see, my dear boy? If you keep running, you will be running for eternity. You must embrace the Flame, embrace the fire that burns within you, and let it guide you on your path. Don't look back; look forward; what happened cannot be undone; that is one of the most important lessons one can learn in Life."
Aenar remembered the words of the old man. Daenerys, Rhaenys, all of them were gone, and drowning in self-pity would never change that; Aenar knew that now. He had a new life, and he could never find happiness if he kept looking back and didn't allow himself to move on. He allowed himself to feel guilty for being alive.
At that moment, Ghost let out a sound of joy, joining Aenar and Daemon. With an infectious grin adorning his furry face, Ghost playfully and affectionately licked Aenar's face, conveying his boundless happiness. Meanwhile, outside, Cannibal suddenly awakened from his peaceful slumber, his eyes fluttering open to greet the world. Raising his majestic head towards the heavens, he unleashed a resounding cry of pure elation, his voice echoing through the vast expanse. In a heartwarming response, Caraxes joined the symphony of joy, adding his majestic roar to the celebration.
Later
Alysanne's gaze fixated on the colossal heap, a mountain of memories that towered before her. At its crest lay the man who had once held her heart captive, his serene countenance belying the eternal slumber that now consumed him. As her eyes welled up with a torrent of sorrow, icy tears cascaded down her cheek; each drops a chilling reminder of the void that had swallowed her soul. At that moment, it seemed as though he was merely lost in a peaceful reverie as if he were merely resting, awaiting the warmth of dawn's embrace to stir him awake. Yet, deep within her, Alysanne knew the painful truth: his laughter would no longer dance upon the air, and his gentle touch would never bring solace to her trembling heart. He had departed from her life, leaving behind an irreplaceable void, a void that would forever haunt her slumber, for he would never be there to awaken her again.
Alysanne's eyes flickered behind towards Aenar; her little great-grandson was standing beside Laena and Rhaenyra, holding both of them close, almost protecting them.
Near Alysanne was standing the rest of the Royal Family, including Princess Rhaenys and her family. An air of melancholy hung over the air as Rhaenyra's tear-streaked countenance betrayed her inner turmoil, while Prince Aenar valiantly masked his sorrow, though his reddened eyes betrayed his unspoken grief. In this tender moment, Laena clasped Aenar's trembling hand, her own delicate tears teetering on the brink of release yet resolutely suppressed.
As Alysanne's ears caught the distant echo of mighty dragon wings flapping, she instinctively craned her neck, her gaze darting skyward. The sound grew closer, reverberating through the air. And there it was, her beloved dragon Silverwing, descending gracefully from the sky, its massive form casting a shadow that engulfed the pyre below.
The ground trembled beneath her feet as Silverwing touched down, towering like a behemoth, dwarfing even the grandest castle's proportions. But Silverwing wasn't the only dragon present. Meleys, Caraxes, Vermithor, Cannibal, and Seasmoke joined Silverwing in this extraordinary gathering. They danced in the sky, their wings outstretched. All but Cannibal, who lay sprawled on a vast emerald field, fixated on Aenar with an unwavering gaze as if standing sentinel, faithfully guarding his every move.
Every step she took brought them closer to the solemn pyre, where the lifeless form of Jaehaerys lay.
"Jaehaerys ñuha jorrāelagon, nyke miss ao se kessa gaomagon sīr syt se rest hen ñuha ābrar. Kesan gaomagon se kivio nyke vēttan ao.(Jaehaerys, my love, I miss you and will do so for the rest of my life. I will keep the promise I made you.)" Her voice cracked, the vulnerability shining through as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
With a resounding command of "Dracarys!" echoing in the air, Silverwing unleashed her fiery wrath upon the pyle, the flames consuming the lifeless body of Jaehaerys Targaryen with a voracious hunger that seemed insatiable.
Alysanne, her heart heavy with grief, stood steadfast, her tear-filled eyes transfixed upon the haunting spectacle unfolding before her. The sight of her husband's body reduced to mere ashes was a cruel torment threatening to shatter her spirit.
As the conflagration raged on, a shower of crimson and gold sparks burst forth into the air, their vibrant hues painting the somber sky with a flickering tapestry of ephemeral beauty. At that moment, the air seemed laden with sorrow. The searing heat, mingled with the bittersweet scent of charred remnants, enveloped all who stood witness.
A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant crashing waves against the rocky shores. In that poignant moment, Vermithor unleashed a sorrowful roar that reverberated through the stillness, its haunting echoes reaching every corner of the island. The mournful sound seemed to carry the weight of a thousand sorrows.
It was a sound that spoke of a deep bond shattered, a companion lost, and a fierce spirit left to wander the vast expanse of the world alone. Only after the last flicker of flame had consumed Jaehaerys's lifeless body, leaving nothing behind but ashes and memories, did Vermithor unfurl his wings.
They stretched wide, embracing the sky as if yearning to escape the suffocating grip of grief that clung to his scaled form. He rose from the ground with a powerful beat of his wings, his silhouette cutting through the sky with grace and purpose. The wind caressed his scales, carrying away the weight of sorrow that had burdened her.
Night
Aenar knew his father wouldn't be happy, but he needed to see him; it was a feeling at the back of his head, and he knew what he wanted: he wanted to fly; he felt like a bird in a cage, and flying with Cannibal would set him free.
With a quiet determination, Aenar descended the winding staircase that led him through a labyrinth of hidden tunnels. Step by step, he ventured further into the depths, his heart pounding with anticipation. As he emerged from the subterranean passage, he found himself bathed in the ethereal glow of a starry night sky above Dragonstone.
The celestial canvas stretched out before him, adorned with a breathtaking full moon that cast a mesmerizing blue radiance upon the ancient fortress. Aenar took a deep breath and stepped into the night, feeling the cool grass beneath his feet. The air was alive with the delicate fragrance of flowers, their vibrant colors dancing in the moonlit breeze.
With each stride, he felt a surge of exhilaration, his senses heightened by the symphony of nature surrounding him. As he ran through the fields, his movements became a graceful dance, his body harmonizing with the rhythm of the wind.
As Aenar cautiously ventured forward, the mighty beast lay motionless in the familiar spot. Bathed in the moon's ethereal glow, Cannibal's obsidian scales seemed to possess an otherworldly allure, shimmering like the stars themselves. Each step Aenar took was measured and deliberate, his heart pounding in rhythm with the anticipation coursing through his veins. The colossal figure of Cannibal loomed before him, its massive head dwarfing Aenar in comparison. Yet, Aenar stood his ground, his eyes filled with unwavering determination. Fear was an emotion that had long been abandoned.
With the fierce intensity of a raging wildfire, the Cannibal's emerald-green eyes pierced through the darkness, fixating on Aenar with an undeniable sense of familiarity. As if awakening from a slumber, the black dragon let loose a menacing growl, the warmth of his breath escaping his flared nostrils while his formidable teeth were bared in a fearsome display of power. Drawing nearer to Aenar, his massive head lowered, inviting Aenar to reach out. Tentatively, Aenar's hand brushed against the dragon's scorching scales, feeling the searing heat beneath his fingertips, akin to the touch of dancing flames themselves.
Cannibal crouched down on his powerful legs with his head lowered towards Aenar as if beckoning him to climb upon his back. Aenar, with a glint of excitement in his eyes, took a deep breath before carefully placing his hands on the dragon's rough scales and slowly climbing up.
His heart was racing with anticipation as he felt the warmth of Cannibal's body beneath his. As he reached the top, he let out a gasp of awe at the breathtaking view of the vast and endless sky above. Cannibal spread his massive wings, revealing an intricate pattern of scales and feathers that glimmered in the starry night sky.
His fingers curled tightly around the dragon's rough scales as he surveyed the horizon. He knew that Cannibal was waiting for his command. With a fierce determination in his heart, Aenar bellowed out his order, his voice echoing across the plains.
"Sōvegon (Fly)," he cried out, his grip on Cannibal's scales tightening. With a mighty roar, the dragon began to move. His massive feet thudded against the ground, each step sending shockwaves rippling through the earth. The ground cracked beneath him, unable to withstand the sheer force of his movement.
Aenar felt his heart race with excitement. He knew what was coming next. With a powerful beat of his wings, Cannibal leaped into the air, soaring up into the clouds. Aenar felt the wind rushing past his, whipping his hair around his face.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Aenar and Cannibal ascended higher and higher into the sky. His powerful movements were rhythmic and graceful as they soared above the world with utter ease and elegance. As they climbed higher, Aenar gazed down at the breathtaking view below his; his eyes widened in awe, and he wondered at the world's beauty beneath his feet. The lush green fields, winding rivers, and vast oceans stretched out very far before his in a stunning landscape that seemed to go on forever. The wind rushed past his face, and he felt the cool air rushing through his hair, filling him with an electrifying sense of freedom and adventure. It was a moment of pure joy and exhilaration as he soared above the world.
With a determined look on his face, he shouted, "Eglikta, ñuha zaldrīzes (Higher, my Dragon!)", urging Cannibal to soar higher towards the heavens. As the dragon's wings flapped faster and faster, Aenar held on tightly to its scales, his heart racing with excitement. The world around him became smaller and smaller as they ascended higher into the sky. Aenar felt the wind whipping through his hair and the moonlight against his face as they climbed toward the clouds. With the clouds getting closer, Aenar tightened his grip on the scales once again, urging Cannibal to push through and emerge on the other side. As they burst through the clouds, Aenar felt a rush of exhilaration and pride, knowing that he and his dragon were unstoppable. Together, they ruled the skies.
As Aenar Targaryen and his mighty dragon soared through the thick, billowy cloud cover, he felt his heart racing with exhilaration and his lungs straining for breath in the thinning air. The sensation of weightlessness and the rush of cool wind whipping through his hair filled him with a sense of freedom he had never experienced before. As they emerged from the cloud, Aenar's eyes widened in awe at the breathtaking vista that lay before his. Dragonstone looked like nothing more than a tiny speck in the grand expanse of the landscape.
Aenar sat tall and proud on his dragon, gazing out at the world before him with a sense of awe and wonder. As the wind whipped through his hair, he felt as if he could see the entire world laid out before him - every mountain, every river, every forest, and every field.
From this height, the stars shone brighter than ever before, casting a glittering tapestry across the sky. Looking out in every direction, Aenar felt as though he held the very world in the palm of his hand, with all of its beauty, wonder, and mystery spread out before his.
At this moment, he understood why the Targaryens were considered Gods Amongst Men.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the moment as the wind whipped through his hair and the moon beat down upon his face. With a sense of utter freedom and abandonment, he leaned his body forward, feeling the muscles in his thighs tense as he urged Cannibal to dive toward the ground below.
As the dragon understood his desires, he let out a deafening roar, signaling his readiness to fulfill his wish. With a sudden burst of speed, Cannibal closed his wings and headed straight downwards, hurtling towards the earth like a meteor in the sky. Aenar felt his heart pounding in his chest as the world around him became a blur of colors and shapes, the wind rushing past his ears like a wild, untamed beast.
Aenar gripped the scales as tightly as he could, his heart pounding in his chest as they descended with alarming speed, almost free-falling through the sky. The wind rushed past him, whipping his hair around his face, and he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins. As they fell, everything around them seemed to get bigger and bigger, the world rushing up to meet them until he could see every detail of the landscape below with crystal-clear clarity.
But then, in a sudden burst of movement, Cannibal spread his massive wings wide, stopping their downward descent and propelling them forward with a powerful surge of energy. Aenar felt his heart race as they soared over the shimmering waters below, the wind rushing past his face as he struggled to maintain his grip on the scales. His hands, clad in sturdy gloves, ached from the effort, but he knew that without them, the sharp scales would have sliced through his flesh, leaving his hands bloody and torn. With a fierce determination, he clung on tightly, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead, beyond the Narrow Sea.
As Cannibal soared through the air above the twisting sea, the water beneath him rippled and churned in his wake.
As Aenar Targaryen rode atop his fierce dragon, Cannibal, he felt the rush of wind in his hair and the heat of the dragon's breath on his face. The two of them soared high above Dragonstone.
Soon the entire Westeros and Essos will learn why Targaryens are Gods amongst Men, Aenar thought, he knew what he had to do now; he would ensure that Dorne bowed down to him, and he would crush all his enemies.
The Following Chapter takes place seven years after this one, on 112 AC; Aenar has grown up and is ready to show his might to everyone; Laena and Rhaenyra have grown up too, especially Laena, who will show her Targaryen's side quite often; same for Rhaenyra. The big changes from Canon will start, especially with a certain Cole, but let's not do spoilers for now.
Note: In the books, Aemma Arryn dies on 105 AC, while in the Show, she dies on 112 AC. This story will follow the show on this one.
Aenar moving on from his guilt is what made him able to fly with Cannibal. Since being born, Aenar felt guilty over what happened in his past life, still seeing nightmares of what happened and sometimes even seeing Arya and other people while he was awake. That's why he didn't feel ready to ride Cannibal, and in a way, it was locking himself in a cage and not allowing himself to move on.
After his talk with his father, Aenar lets out all his feelings, and Daemon being there and talking to him is what helps him move on, and Aenar is able to ride Cannibal and metaphorically spread his own wings.
If you want to Read the Following 15 Chapters, Check out the LINK Above.
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