Chapter 30: The Young Dragon
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Daemon
As the weight of the sword burdened his hands, Daemon shifted his gaze towards the man, peering through the narrow opening of his helmet. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, creating an uncomfortable sensation as they clung to his skin. Taking a determined step forward, Daemon unleashed a swing with his sword, aiming to strike his opponent. To his surprise, the man skillfully parried the attack using his own weapon, adding force against Daemon. He pushed back, exerting every ounce of strength he possessed. The man swiftly stepped away, intended to unbalance Daemon and make him stumble. Reacting swiftly, Daemon sideswinged, his blade sliced through nothing but empty air, the man successfully evading his strike. The man swiftly retaliated by slashing at his wrist, attempting to force him to drop the sword. A surge of agony coursed through Daemon's hand, and he felt his hand getting wet under the armor.
His face was sweating. Daemon gritted his teeth and slammed his mailed hand against his helm. The man staggered, taking steps back, but Daemon allowed him no time to rest; as quick as a cat, Daemon swung his sword, but the man crouched, the blade slashing the empty air one feather above his helm. They had been training for hours now, and Daemon was breathing heavily.
Daemon didn't see it coming, but he felt the blade hit his mailed chest hard, the breath escaping him from the impact. He let out a breath, quickly trying to fill his lungs with air, but the man allowed him no such luxury; ruthlessly, the man hit him quickly with his sword at the back of his knee; Daemon staggered, falling on his knees. He tried to sideswing, but the man grasped his wrist with his mailed hand, stopping his hand and forcing it upwards; Daemon's face was forced forward, and the man hit him again on the helm, dropping him on the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Daemon felt the blood and the dirt in his mouth, his face sweating. He felt like his face was melting off; he turned his head, and in front of him was the sword's tip right at his face, his helm separating him from the pointy end, as sharp as Valyrian Steel, one small thrust, and it would enter his head through his eye socket. Not the worst way to die, Daemon thought. But Daemon preferred to die with his dragon. If the gods asked him, he would say he wishes to die with his dragon, either that or in his son's arms.
"Yield?"
"I yield." Daemon surrendered, raising up his arm. His muscles felt soar and were shaking and burning, and they felt hot to the touch; Daemon knew he needed a bath after this.
They had started their little swordfight before even the rats of the Seven that called themselves Priests of the Seven had woken up; the bells of the new day would ring every day just as the sun peeked on the horizon. A new day, new problems. The bells always woke up the city, but today, Daemon had woken up before the bells, as did his fighter.
Daemon had woken up feeling heavy and with a bad headache; he could still taste the beer on his lips. before, it tasted sweet, but now he felt like he would vomit everything; his stomach growled, and Daemon imagined a roasted chicken would be good now.
Sheathing his sword, the man reached down his hand towards Daemon, who was still sitting on the ground, a smirk behind his helm. He accepted the hand, and with a little push, he stood on his legs; his mailed hand grasped the bottom of his helm before pulling it away, letting it fall, clattering on the ground.
"You have grown old. I heard there are summer islands near Essos, perhaps you should retire." The man japed, and Daemon knew he was smiling, hiding behind his helm.
Daemon laughed, grabbing his own sword by the handle, its blade dull and not harmful to anyone. Daemon favored Valyrian Steel above all; even in training, he preferred Valyrian Steel, either that or Live Steel. He wanted to see the other knight beg for mercy by the end of the fight, and that couldn't be done with a dull sword; broken bones weren't as frightening as a slash and blood dripping out like water from a vase.
"Me, retire?" Daemon asked, pointing at himself with a fake hurt voice, his mouth twitching upwards as his opponent grasped his own helm by the bottom before removing it, revealing his face.
"Common folk would come begging for my return from King's Landing to Dragonstone, son," Daemon said, grinning wolfishly; his son laughed as he started getting rid of every piece of armor, his face full of sweat.
"Maybe, they just don't know you that you are just an old man." His son said, trying to remove his armor, his hair reaching his shoulders, curly and dark like a crow; sometimes Daemon wondered how the helmet he used in fights didn't get in the way. Daemon had told him to cut his hair short so it wouldn't get in the way of fighting, but Aenar always said the same thing.
'Laena loves my hair,' his son had told him one day.
'Perhaps she should marry your hair then. She won't have deal with your bullshit.' Daemon had japed; his son had looked at him, clearly not amused. '
With his hand on the handle of the sword, Daemon put the sword back on the barrel with the rest of the weapons inside. The Training Ground for the Royal Family was a large square clearing with seven barrels near one another, each holding a different type of weapon. Swords, knives, axes, double axes, hammers, mace, morningstars, clubs and other weapons. The Royal Training Yard held a space separated by a wall left only for target practices; a big metallic door connected the two areas, and the wall was tall and made of bricks with mortar.
A long time ago, the wall separating the two sides hadn't been as tall, an arrow had flown in the wrong direction, it was said a soldier was hit in the knee by the arrow, since that day, the wall had been rebuilt, now three meters tall, supported by heavy beams that were changed every decade.
"Will you meet her today?" Daemon asked, still placing the swords in their place, looking back over his shoulder; his son had gotten rid of most of his armor, now wearing his attire, he looked as much of a prince as he always did, the scar above his right eyebrow only made him look better, at least that's what Daemon had heard in the city, but it wasn't just the city, Rhaenyra had often touched his scar, saying he looked more handsome with the scar.
Whenever he went down to the city to see Mysaria, she would often talk about his son; what she had heard from the Streets, Daemon had dismissed; the common people would always find something to talk about the Royal Family, that was to be expected. The Common People loved to talk about the Royal Family, sometimes discussing some wild rumors, like the one that Aenar was a dragon that turned into a human or that Daemon had taken Alicent's maidenhead.
Daemon felt like vomiting at the mere thought; he would never lay with someone from House Hightower. The girl was beautiful, but Daemon never really paid attention to her. the one rumor that Daemon refused to believe was that Viserys was seeing Alicent.
Daemon knew that was only a rumor, but he had seen the small looks between the two, they were brief, but they were there; Mysaria had once told him that one of her little birds had reported to her that he had seen Viserys drinking tea with Alicent in private.
Daemon didn't believe any of that; his brother wasn't like that; between the two, Viserys had always been the one to follow the rules and not do anything rash; since becoming King, Viserys had always tried to make everyone happy, sometimes he was quick to anger but would forget about it by the next week. Viserys always took his duties seriously; he would never do something that could risk his position.
Between the two, Daemon had always been the wild one, someone who did something without thinking of the consequences. Daemon never really cared about the consequences; he was a prince and a dragon rider.
A servant brought him a bucket filled to the brim with crystal clear water, the sun looking back at Daemon on the water's surface; getting hold of the bucket, he brought it up before pouring down the water on top of himself.
Daemon felt a rush of cold and breathed heavily as water dripped from his clothes and silver hair. He heard footsteps but paid them little attention as he used a towel to wipe the water off his face, his arms, and legs.
"I will; in her last letter, she told me she would try to tame either Vermithor or Vhagar; she still wants her dragon to be near Cannibal's size." His son's voice came from behind, his voice sounding excited; Daemon didn't need to look to know his son was smiling; he always did whenever he talked about Laena or Rhaenyra; both girls had grown beautiful and had undoubtedly caught his eyes. They had caught everyone's eyes; the Realm sang songs of Rhaenyra's beauty; they called her 'the Realm's Delight'. Lady Laena was no Princess, so the Realm sang no songs, but Aenar did.
Daemon had heard them; even Ser Ryam had told him; Aenar loved to sing songs to Laena in the God's wood of King's Landing; it was their little secret world, away from everyone. There, they could talk freely without anyone noticing them.
"Tell her that a dragon's size is not as important as the rider's. You might have Balerion, but it won't do you much if you don't do your duty as a rider," Daemon said, turning to face his son. The sunlight fell down on the side of his face, not at his eyes, but enough to show his handsomeness.
Daemon always asked Mysaria about any information she might have received, and while there was always something to talk about, Daemon felt pride when the Common People and the Lords spoke of his son. They spoke of him as Jaehaerys come again, especially the Common People.
Before Jaehaerys became King, the common people had no laws that either supported them or protected them from highborns; they were seen as less than dirt, but Jaehaerys had been the first King in Westeros to make laws that helped the Common People; they loved him, there were some people that had prayed to him when he had been alive.
"She's the only one left from us, Rhaenyra has Syrax." His son told him, using the water from the bucket to wash his face; the servant that brought him the water offered to wash his face herself; Aenar told her that he could do it himself; his words made her smile disappear, Daemon watched as the servant walked away with a look of defeat in her face.
"Where's Cannibal?" Daemon asked, looking at the sky, almost expecting the giant dragon to fly over them, his body casting a shadow on King's Landing. Before, he often used to peek his head over the Walls of King's Landing and scare everyone who was nearby. Daemon was sure the dragon loved it when people feared him, but it had been four years since he stopped doing that.
"King's Wood, I will see him soon, he will need to stretch his wings," Aenar answered with a frown, something that happened every time Cannibal was brought up. Daemon couldn't blame him; sometimes, he thanked the gods that Cannibal hadn't been hungry and had decided to fly away.
After Aenar had tamed Cannibal, one month later, Viserys had been coronated as King of the Seven Kingdoms in front of the High Priest of the Seven. Two weeks after becoming King, Viserys had ordered Aenar that since he had tamed Cannibal, the dragon would need to be caged inside the Dragon Pit like all the other dragons when he was in King's Landing.
Aenar had refused at first, saying he wouldn't cage his dragon, but Viserys wouldn't budge from his decision, saying the dragon was too dangerous to be left in the wild and not supervised.
After arguing back and forth, even Queen Alysanne couldn't change his mind.
'Your dragon will be locked in the Dragon Pit. This discussion is over,' Viserys said, his voice firm and final.
'No.'
Viserys locked eyes with his nephew, cold and furious. Daemon had almost placed himself between his son and brother, but it wasn't needed.
'Your dragon is no pet. You are young, Aenar, but remember this, Targaryens do not control dragons, that's an illusion. An illusion you must escape from before someone gets hurt.'
Aenar had reluctantly climbed on top of Cannibal and landed with him in front of the Dragon Pit. It was the King's decision, so he couldn't do anything.
The guardians in the Dragon Pit had approached him carefully, speaking Valyria and trying to get him to follow them inside. It worked with all the other dragons, including Caraxes, but Cannibal got tense the moment he heard the guards telling him to follow them, leading him inside the Dragon Pit. It didn't take long for Cannibal to understand what they wanted to do with him.
Despite Aenar being there, Cannibal was furious and roared, unleashing flames everywhere, killing three guardians who turned to ash from his flames; then Cannibal screamed at Aenar with fury; at that moment, Daemon had been sure that Cannibal would kill his son. But after screaming at Aenar, Cannibal spread his wings and flew away from The Dragon Pit.
For a month, Aenar had cried and cursed; Daemon had been angry with his brother, who, at the very least, showed guilt on his face. Rhaenyra had tried to cheer up Aenar, but nothing improved his mood; during that time, Laena had been the only one capable of calming him down, but even she couldn't do much.
One Year after his disappearance, Cannibal had returned back, landing outside of the Walls, before roaring, letting everyone know that he had returned, Aenar had approached him without anyone else being nearby, he had refused even Ser Ryam and his father.
To this day, Daemon didn't know what happened that day, but Aenar and Cannibal had taken flight and didn't return until the next day. After their return, Cannibal would stay in God's Wood but would never allow anyone else but Aenar to approach him.
Rhaenyra had once tried to fly with Aenar on top of Cannibal since Syrax was still young, but the dragon roared at her, warning her not to get closer. Despite Aenar telling him that Rhaenyra was a friend, Cannibal refused to allow her to get closer and even breathed fire on the ground as a last warning for Rhaenyra; after that day, she didn't try again to ride with Aenar on Cannibal. From the Dragons, Cannibal was only tolerant of Caraxes.
"Stretch his wings? I thought you wanted to train with Ser Ryam and Ser Elric?" Daemon asked, cleaning his hands. He didn't hear him coming, but Daemon saw him approaching them; his white fur was quite noticeable in King's Landing. The Direwolf was as quiet as a Ghost, his red eyes looked back at Daemon before nuzzling against Aenar's waist.
Daemon heard footsteps approaching, and the door that led to the Training Ground opened to reveal Ser Ryam and Ser Elric. Ser Ryam was wearing the golden armor of the Kingsguards; that armor clattered with each step he took.
Ser Elric Stark wore grey silk, high black boots, and a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the dire wolf of House Stark was embroidered in silver threads; watching quietly; the two were guards of Aenar; they followed him everywhere, except when he took flight with his dragon.
Another thing that changed was the number of Stark men in King's Landing. Three months after Viserys became King, Aenar and a few from House Targaryen traveled North to celebrate the second name day of Gael's son, Cregan Stark.
Despite his age, the boy refused to be in one place for more than a minute and could already speak a few words; he would crawl and walk around everywhere until his mother would get a hold of him. But they had gone to Winterfell for more than just celebrating Cregan's second name day.
They returned South with twenty soldiers from House Stark; the soldiers were picked by Lord Stark himself, including Elric Stark, Aenar's cousin; the boy wanted to be a Kingsguard and trained every day with Ser Ryam, the boy trained until he was exhausted, fainting three times so far during the training.
"Ser Ryam, Ser Elric. Good morrow," Aenar greeted the two knights as soon as they stopped in front of him.
"Good morrow, your graces." The two said with a bow, Elric's long, straight hair falling in front of his face as he bowed.
"Prince Aenar, Queen Alysanne wants your presence in her chambers." Again, Daemon thought. His son didn't say anything else; he used the towel to dry the water from his hands; before he walked past the knights, Daemon didn't waste breath to call him; he knew his son wouldn't say anything; ghost trailing behind him as did Ser Elric and Ser Ryam following behind.
Daemon was left alone in the Training Yard, but that didn't bother him much; he knew he needed to have a talk with Mysaria before the small council meeting. As much as Daemon hated to be part of these meetings, he knew his grandmother wouldn't be pleased if he slacked off his duties, and being part of these meetings meant he could annoy Otto, which was a bonus.
Daemon walked back to his chamber, finding his cloak; he made sure his face was hidden, his white hair tucked under the cloak, not a strand of hair sticking out, and he used the secret passage to leave the Red Keep. In these moments, Daemon was grateful that Maegor made these ugly labyrinths around the Red Keep. Only Daemon knew of a few of them; they were hidden, and even if someone found them, there were many ways one could get lost in them; they appeared to never end. Daemon often wondered if there was a tunnel that led to the King's chamber, but he had yet to find out, perhaps hidden in plain sight, behind a book. Behind the fireplace?
Daemon pushed open the wall. It was heavy, but the hidden door was pushed forward, the light outside peeking through the opening that only widened.
Daemon walked further, reaching what seemed a solid wall made of red bricks, but the lower half had small tiny holes, no bigger than a dagger's tip, the sunlight illuminating the inside through the cracks. Daemon crouched until his behind touched his feet; he pushed open a small door in the wall, revealing a long dark tunnel, big enough for a toddler to walk on foot; the end showed the view outside. Daemon crouched low enough, using both his hands and legs to walk; he used the sleeves to cover the palms of his hands; thankfully, the ground was as dry as the desserts of Dorne.
Crawling out, he dusted himself; he could hear the sound of people arguing from the nearby market. Daemon picked up a big stone that had been carved to look like a half 'o'. He placed it on top of the opening, covering the hidden tunnel.
Daemon knew his men would be in the brothel by now. Daemon walked through the streets of King's Landing without drawing attention. The streets were crowded as they always were, but today, the number of people almost seemed to have doubled somehow; Daemon could see faces he knew he had never seen before.
Daemon knew the approaching Tourney had drawn attention from the entire Westeros; every Tourney of this size always did, but this time was different. Queen Aemma was pregnant, and everyone was awaiting the birth of a new prince or princess, as was Viserys.
But Daemon knew what his brother really wanted; while he might waste his breath and say that a sister for Rhaenyra wouldn't be bad, Daemon knew his brother wanted an heir.
Daemon couldn't blame him; he was the King, and it was his right to want an heir, but secretly, he wished it would be a girl instead and, most importantly, that the Queen survive. What happened to Lyanna was still too fresh in his mind, and Daemon hoped he wouldn't have to see that again.
Daemon walked through the city; he ignored the people's words and cries; the heat made the clothes he was wearing clung to him uncomfortably, like a second skin; at a time like this, Daemon wished for a cold drink.
He heard a child running away while holding a pouch full of coins and a man running after him.
Soon, he stopped in front of a ramshackle building, three stories, timbered; in front of every window was a lamp, but not all were lit up; Daemon could hear music, laughter, and moans of pleasure coming from inside; the door seemed old, and rotten. Daemon walked inside with a push of his hand.
Walking inside a common room, a woman was singing; girls were lined up, wearing dresses that covered just enough to tease, all of them young; there were doors that led to separate rooms, the moans coming from the inside of the rooms. Daemon knew a few still had their maidenhead, but Daemon paid them no attention. The only two guards inside the house walked away the moment they saw his purple eyes.
Daemon walked to the third floor. He opened a door, and there she stood; unlike the other girls, Mysaria wore an elegant white dress made of silk with purple straps; she was beautiful, with long silver hair reaching her waist, long, beautiful legs, and long slender fingers.
"Daemon, I thought you forgot of me?" Mysaria spoke with fake hurt, her accent that of Lys, holding a hand on her chest as if she was hurt. Daemon closed the door behind him and watched as she walked towards him, her skin as pale as milk; with one of her hands, she removed the piece of clothing covering her breasts, big, pale, with beautiful pink nipples.
"What have you heard of my Brother?" Daemon asked, her hands resting on his shoulders; she pouted that he didn't allow her to have her fun, and she pushed herself against him, her bosom against his shirt.
"Your brother drank tea with the little lady yesterday. My little bird didn't even need to get close; he could hear the lady's laughter. She seemed to enjoy your brother's presence; never thought your brother preferred them young and still maiden." Mysaria said sweetly, her mouth twitching upwards, enjoying the way Daemon's lips twitched downwards.
Daemon released a sound similar to that of a dragon. Mysaria had given him information for three whole years now, and she had yet to be wrong about any information she had given him.
Since becoming the Commander of the City Watch, Daemon had made sure his men were ready to face everything and protect the city. Queen Alysanne had been the one to suggest him, much to Daemon's dismay, but in private, she had told him the real reason why he was needed as the Commander of the City Watch.
His rough training had earned him their loyalty, and one night, he had decided to pay the brothel a girl for all his twenty best men. Daemon had simply watched, wine in his hand, his back against a wooden beam, when Mysaria had approached him, Daemon had been dismissive of her, but she had attracted his attention by bringing up something that someone like shouldn't have known; they had talked late into the night.
Mysaria had started giving him information, saying she had hired ten kids to work for her to gather information around King's Landing.
'A Secret is often worth more than any piece of jewellery, my Prince.'
Those were her words; Daemon had hired Mysaria to give him information regarding the Hand of the King and what his brother was doing. She had asked if she wanted information on his own son, but Daemon had refused before telling her that if he found any of them spying on his son. He would cut her throat from ear to ear.
"Foolishness." Daemon murmured, before turning his attention back to Mysaria. Daemon knew he would need to have a talk with Viserys after he was done here.
Aenar
The sound of steel clashing with steel echoed in the Training Yard; Aenar kept his distance, wearing nothing but his ordinary clothes; he felt lighter and faster, his hands curled around the iron handle of his sword. Ser Ryam rushed forward, his blade fast and precise, but his blade cut nothing but empty air; Aenar ducked, and the second attack came to his side, a sword aimed towards his face; he parried before taking several steps backward, forcing his enemies to be in front rather than around him.
Ser Elric attacked first, being in front of Ser Ryam; Aenar quickly backed away before punching the man in the face with his mailed hand; the boy fell on the ground with his face; his helm had protected him, but Aenar could see bits of blood from his nose as he groaned in pain.
Aenar turned to face Ser Ryam, and the sword hit his shoulder hard. Aenar winced in pain but ignored it; with his speed, Aenar hit the old knight on the wrist, but it wasn't enough to force him to drop his sword.
Aenar didn't see it coming but felt the punch on his face; he winced in pain, blood in his mouth, but that only made Aenar more excited. Ser Ryam swung again, but Aenar blocked it with his sword before punching the old knight in the chest; the old knight gasped, all air escaping his lungs as Aenar was relentless. Aenar hit his wrist once again, and his sword fell from his hand; Aenar placed the tip of his sword under his chin.
"I yield." Ser Ryam accepted defeat with a proud smile behind his helmet, Aenar laughed in joy, helping the old knight to stand up, while Ser Elric stood up on his own, blood dripping from a cut on his lower lip, and his nose was bleeding too.
"How come you never help me to stand up?" Ser Elric asked, using water to clean the blood from his face.
"When you turn sixty? Not that long left, right?" Aenar japed; Elric rolled his eyes, shoving his face into the bucket full of water he pulled out before using a towel to dry his face.
"Will you enter the Tourney, your grace?" Ser Ryam asked, standing behind Aenar; the man had grown older but still was one of the best knights they had in Westeros.
"I will. I promised Princess Rhaenyra, I would crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty." Aenar answered, touching his sore shoulder; his muscles felt soar, and every step he took hurt; it was to be expected; he trained every day for nearly six hours. Aenar had made sure he would be the best Swordsman in Westeros, a little pain was something he could endure.
"Of course, he will join. Every lady from here to the wall will want to see his pretty face, or we will have entire riots in our hands. I can almost hear all of them chanting his name." Ser Elric japed with a burst of laughter. Aenar chuckled along, while Ser Ryam didn't look as amused as the two.
"What about you, Ser Ryam? I heard that you were one of the best at Tourneys when you were young?" Ser Elric asked, walking forward to stand beside Ser Ryam, nudging his shoulder playfully.
Aenar used water from the bucket to wash his shoulder, wincing in pain every time he did; his muscles felt like they were beating like a heart and as hot as Dragonfire.
"I wasn't the best. I think I was just more lucky than everyone else, and my time to ride horses while holding a stick has long past, but I wouldn't mind seeing you in a tourney. Perhaps you are better at holding the stick than the sword." Aenar laughed amused, while Ser Elric looked at Ser Ryam with a deadpan look.
"Very funny. I will piss in your grave old men, is not that long left anyway." Ser Ryam chuckled in amusement before patting the younger knight on the shoulder.
"My deeds are written in the White Book, you can piss in my grave all you want." Ser Elric shook his head; sometimes, he couldn't understand the old man.
Indeed they are, Aenar thought, from all the knights in the History of the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Ryam was still talked about, with many calling him the greatest Kingsguard to have ever lived. But the thought of Kingsguards made him think of the one person who would definitely be part of the Tourney two days later.
Criston Cole
The books spoke of him as the sworn shield of Princess Rhaenyra until, one day, Criston Cole was no longer her knight. The books gave different reasons why, one that Rhaenyra had tried to seduce him, but the knight had refused her; another said that Princess Rhaenyra had refused his advances, and that caused the rift between them to open. Aenar didn't know which version was the truth, perhaps none of them, but it didn't matter. Once the Tourney started, there would be a new version.
Aenar knew better than to underestimate the man; while they called him 'The Kingmaker' in his time, many spat at his name, but Criston Cole had been a better fighter than Prince Daemon; Aenar knew better than to underestimate someone who was said to be have been better than his father.
Aenar, Ser Ryam, and Ser Elric sparred once again, and the result was the same, with Aenar being on top again. His father and Ser Ryam had told him many times that speed was one of the most important factors in a fight, something that Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur used to tell him.
Aenar had taken that lesson to heart; the first year after Viserys became King, Aenar had chased cats around The Red Keep, trying to catch a cat with his bare hands; if he wasn't fast enough to catch one, then he wasn't ready yet. By the end of the year, Aenar was able to catch a cat without any difficulty.
Now, Aenar was much faster than he had ever been, but Aenar still felt like he wasn't ready yet, so he still trained himself, mainly on speed and agility. Tomorrow, he had decided to test himself by fighting both his father and Ser Ryam at the same time; if he could defeat him, or at least keep himself from losing for at least ten minutes, then he was ready for more.
"Prince Aenar, can I ask you something?" Elric suddenly asked; Ser Ryam didn't need to be told; he walked away a few steps, giving them enough privacy.
Aenar looked at his cousin, waiting for him to continue. "Cregan is nearly eight years old. Aunt Gael is already saying how much he likes flying, but Dreamfyre hasn't laid eggs yet-" "You want Cregan to have an egg from The Dragon Pit." Aenar interrupted him, and Elric simply nodded with hopeful eyes.
"Yes, your grace. I will work for a whole year without payment if needed."
"There would be no need of it, Elric. Cregan is family, he's my cousin. They are coming here for the Tourney, right?"
"Yes, your grace."
"Then he can visit the Dragon Pit with me, either we find an egg he likes, or if he's lucky, one of the untamed dragons might want him to be their rider," Aemon said; Elric smiled widely; he seemed as if he was the one receiving the dragon, not Cregan.
"Thank you, Aenar."
Aenar patted his shoulder, sharing a few laughs. Soon, he went back to his chamber, and the servants prepared him a bath, but Aenar refused their help when they asked if he wanted them to help him bath.
Once he took his bath, Aenar walked through the many corridors of the Red Keep; for a stranger, this place was like a labyrinth, but by now, Aenar knew every corner, including many of the hidden paths of the Red Keep.
Aenar pushed open the door, walking into the God's Wood of The Red Keep, a square yard with the Weirwood in the center, its red leaves reaching for the sky, the tree's face looking back at Aenar, and sitting at the base of the tree was Rhaenyra Targaryen.
Over the past seven years, Rhaenyra had become a beauty, with her silver hair cascading down to her back, braided in a manner reminiscent of Queen Visenya. Her features were equally striking, boasting a nose as sharp and elegant as Valyrian steel. Her captivating smile truly captivated hearts, effortlessly blending her beauty with an air of danger, making her all the more irresistible.
Adorning her graceful neck was a resplendent golden choker. She opted for a resplendent red gown adorned with delicate golden buttons. The silky black sleeves complemented the gown.
Every detail seemed perfectly curated, right down to her lustrous and meticulously brushed hair. However, it was her piercing eyes, as sharp as daggers, that truly captivated Aenar.
"Nyra, you have been quite today? Do you want to tell me?" Aenar offered with a smile, he knew Nyra came to the God's Wood by herself only when she was stressed.
Rhaenyra closed the book on her finger before looking up at Aenar as he approached her. "Maybe, you are just boring me," She teased with a smile, her red lips full and beautiful.
"Boring you?" Aenar gasped, placing a hand on his heart. "That's a vile accusation, Nyra. The Gods are watching you." Aenar threatened playfully; Nyra giggled before patting the place next to her; Aenar sat without saying anything; his lips found her forehead; Nyra shuddered in delight, her hand reaching out and playing with his hair.
"Is not fair." Rhaenysa suddenly claimed, her finger curling around a strand of his hair.
"What isn't?"
"You have prettier hair than me. Even Laena is jealous of your hair." Rhaenyra said with a pout.
"Well, maybe they should name me 'The Realm's Delight' instead of you." Rhaenyra hit him in the shoulder playfully before giggling in amusement, a genuine smile on her face.
Aenar loved her laughter, but he knew something was bothering her, his arm around her shoulder like a warm blanket. "What is bothering you, Nyra?"
"My Muna."
"Queen Aemma is strong, Nyra. Soon, you will have a little brother to spoil."
"I don't need a little brother." Nyra suddenly cut him off, with a cold look on her face; her voice felt like a cold breeze.
"I have you, and Laena. I want my mother, I never asked for a brother. I don't want-" She choked on her breath, her eyes looking away from him, her body shaking, but Aenar put his arms around her from behind, his warmth making her feel better.
"My mother is gone, but I know she's still watching over me, and I have all of you with me; you have me and Laena; never forget that," Aenar said with a hushed tone against her ear, her hands reached up, cupping his hands around her.
"Thank you, Aenar." She said with a smile, turning to face him. Her red lips found his cheeks, and he knew she would have kissed his lips if it wasn't for the door opening abruptly; they both quickly stood up to see Daemon walking in with the biggest smug smile on his face.
"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," Daemon teased with a wide grin, especially when Aenar and Rhaenyra pulled away from one another.
"What do you want, uncle? We are busy." Her sharp eyes glared at him.
"A Ship is sailing to King's Landing, carrying the the banner of House Velayron."
Laena has returned, Aenar thought with a growing smile.
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Well, Aenar is already better than Daemon and Ser Ryam, both very good swordsmen, especially Ser Ryam, despite his old age. Laena will reunite with Aenar and Rhaenyra after a whole year of not seeing each other, and unlike Rhaenyra, Laena is much more forward on what she wants...
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