Work Text:
Lynora placed a shaky hand on the dragon’s scales. The coarse leathery skin was surprisingly cool for a creature that could breathe fire, and she found herself pressing closer, wanting to feel the powerful movements of muscle and hot blood. Vhagar seemed unbothered by Lynora’s presence, having been consoled by Aemond on their arrival, with soft, soothing words and careful, deliberate touches. She was near overwhelmed by Vhagar’s size, but also by how she settled under Aemond’s hand.
“How old were you when you claimed her?” she asked, laying her forehead against Vhagar’s neck.
“Two-and-ten.” Aemond put a hand on her back.
She laughed, a little breathless. “You must have looked so small to her. Seven hells, she’s so beautiful.”
Aemond leaned down and Lynora felt his hair drape against her neck as he kissed her throat. She leaned back against him, raised a hand to thread her fingers through his silver locks.
“Do you want to ride her?” he whispered, lips against her ear.
She turned. “Won’t she mind?”
He gave her that small smile, the only one he ever freely gave, which wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Not while you’re with me.”
Lynora imagined it, the vast, open sky, the beat of the dragon’s wings beneath them, the fierce speed as they left the ground below.
“Swear you won’t let me fall.”
“I swear it.” Like he could pluck her from the air if she did. He tucked his fingers under her chin, until her eyes met his one and gave her a measured look.
Caution still warring with her growing anticipation, Lynora nodded her agreement.
Together with the workers, Aemond slowly ushered Vhagar out into the open and helped Lynora climb onto the ropes and netting that had been thrown over the dragon’s back. She pulled herself up steadily, not wanting to look a fool by misplacing her feet and falling. She was briefly concerned that her skirts would make it difficult to sit astride Vhagar’s back. Very quickly she wanted to kick herself for thinking anyone could straddle the creature, as she was again hit with the enormity of her size. The saddle was easy to clamber into. Aemond got on in front of her and she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Follow my movements,” he instructed. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” she snapped.
He stayed silent, and she got the sense he was smirking. She shifted, pressing her body against the bard line of his back and tried to collect herself, prepare herself.
She was woefully unprepared.
There was no way to brace herself for Vhagar’s sudden, powerful movements, the jerk as she pushed off the ground, the ripple of her body, the whistle of cold air whipping past her face, the jump in the pit of her stomach.
For a few dizzying, heart-lurching moments, she didn’t even realise she was screaming.
She locked her jaw shut and tried to focus, hooking herself tight to Aemond. It wasn’t until they were high in the sky that Vhagar levelled and Lynora no longer felt the pull to the ground below. They were still moving too fast for her to adjust to, but she blinked the cool tears from her eyes and took in the scenery around her. Now that the fear of immediate death was draining from her, she could really see the way the light danced over the endless ocean, the tiny model of King’s Landing, how much space there was among the clouds to just breathe and exist.
The next thing Lynora knew, she was laughing. Breathless, hysterical laughter, sounds of exhilaration she wasn’t aware she could make.
On the descent, she was again gripped by the terror of plummetting to the ground, before Vhagar landed with a thump. The solid ground felt strange beneath her feet and she stumbled, catching her breath.
Aemond caught hold of her elbow, steadying her, and she spun around to face her. She was giggling and gasping, blood pounding in her ears, full of a satisfied energy she had never felt outside of their marriage bed. He was looking at hre with a subtle fondness, and so she placed her shaky hands on his face and pulled him closer. She did not think much before she did it, only desperate to feel if his heart was also beating out of his chest. He appeared entirely unflapped by the experience, even as she kissed him, teased his mouth open with a lick of her tongue, nipping his lower lip between her teeth, he simply pushed a hand through her wind-tousled hair.
'Touch me,' Lynora though, the mere idea of pleasure flushing through her. 'I’ll let you, please, just touch me.'
But he had already curled a hand over her shoulder, and was gently pushing her down and back. Lynora blinked up at him, confused, before reality crept up on her and embarrassment ran down her spine.
They were still in the dragonpit, surrounded by workers trying to wrangle Vhagar back inside. They might be married, but publicly throwing herself at Aemond was hardly proper of her.
“Sorry,” she murmured, ducked her head.
He offered another one of his indecipherable smiles, leaving her unsure and flustered.
“Later,” he promised.
Lynora swallowed the conflicting hope and disappointment, and tried to brush past the incident by again turning her attention to Vhagar.
“Thank you,” she said, genuinely grateful. “That was wonderful.”
“As were you.” Aemond offered her his arm and began to lead her away, taking a moment to stroke Vhagar’s snout, leaning against his dragon. Lynora rubbed a hand up and down his back, putting her forehead on his shoulder.
“She cost me an eye,” he confessed.
Lynora paused. “What do you mean?”
“When I claimed her, I lost my eye for it.”
She desperately wanted to ask more questions. She remembered the wild, violent rumours that had circulated when she was young. That the Targaryen prince had claimed the largest dragon in the world on the night of Lady Laena’s funeral. That he had shown up at Driftmark with an eye ripped out. That the Queen had gone mad with rage, that she and Princess Rhaenyra had tried to kill each other. Suddenly the King had decreed that any questioning of the legitimacy of the Princess’ children would result in the removal of the offender’s tongue. Some say he collapsed right after the incident. Again.
The identity of the culprit who took Aemond’s eye changed from tongue to tongue, house to house. Lynora had heard every name be thrown into the ring, from the Velaryon princes, to the King, to Princess Rhaenyra, to Vhagar, somehow. And here she stood, with access to truth beneath his hands.
She had considered asking questions after they first met, but it was a tricky subject to broach smoothly and it hadn’t taken her long to realise he likely wouldn’t react well to her bringing it up. Even now, he had not yet removed his eye patch in front of her, even while they slept. What he kept in place of his eye was also the subject of idle gossip and dinner talk.
“Do you regret it?” Lynora asked.
“No. I could never regret her.” His voice was so distant. “I told my mother not to be upset about my loss. I gained something far greater.”
'Then why do you mourn so?' The question was on the tip of her tongue, longing to be cried out, but she knew not to ask it.
Vhagar was led back inside the dragonpit and Lynora wound her arms around Aemond’s waist, tucked her face against the nape of his neck. His silver hair tickled her nose and face. She wished she could cure all his ills, past and present, even the ones that crafted his ferocity, his protectiveness, his dragon he adored. But he would never accept her pity.
All she could do was hold him, and pray for a kinder future, where she could remove his pain and bitterness, replace them with the freedom found in dragon flight.