The Stronghammer - CH - 63

Dragonstone, the very heart of Targaryen power, had always been home to fire and fury. Its jagged peaks and obsidian cliffs had borne witness to the rise of dragons for centuries. The sight of their mighty forms soaring through the sky had long since ceased to stir fear in the hearts of the island’s inhabitants. To them, it was as natural as the sea crashing against the blackened shores.

So when a colossal bronze dragon burst into the skies with an earth-shaking roar, the people below barely flinched. Fishermen tending to their nets and merchants at the docks merely glanced upward, offering little more than a passing nod of respect to the great beast. What caught their attention, however, was the high-pitched scream that echoed through the air, carried by the wind from above.

Aemond Targaryen clung to Vermithor's ridged back with all his strength, his fingers digging into the dragon's rough scales as if his life depended on it—because it did. The sheer power beneath him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His hair whipped around his face, and his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. Despite all his confidence and bravado, the reality of dragon riding was far more terrifying than he had imagined.

"Hold on tighter, my prince!" Eddie's voice rang in his ears, clear and steady despite the wind howling past them. Sitting behind Aemond, Eddie seemed completely at ease. His hands gripped the dragon’s back with practiced ease, his posture relaxed yet in complete control, as if he had done this a hundred times before.

Aemond gritted his teeth. "I'm holding on as tight as I can!" he yelled, the words nearly stolen by the rushing wind.

Eddie smirked, leaning forward. "You're doing better than most on their first flight! But remember, you're not just a passenger. You're the rider—command him!"

Aemond’s eyes widened. Command him? The idea seemed absurd. Vermithor was an ancient beast, powerful and wild. But Eddie's confidence stirred something within him. He took a deep breath, swallowing his fear, and shouted, "Sōvegon!" (Fly!)

As if understanding the command in the ancient Valyrian tongue, Vermithor let out another deafening roar and flapped his massive wings, propelling them even higher. The sudden acceleration nearly sent Aemond flying off, but Eddie’s firm grip on his shoulder kept him in place.

"Easy there, lad!" Eddie laughed, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration. "The dragon feels your fear. Control it, and you'll control him!"

Aemond focused, pressing himself lower against the dragon's back, adjusting his grip. Slowly, he felt the panic ease as he focused on the rhythmic beating of Vermithor’s wings. The dragon soared higher, the world below shrinking into a vast expanse of blue sea and craggy cliffs.

From below, the castle of Dragonstone grew smaller and smaller, the smoke from its great halls curling into the sky like tendrils reaching for the heavens. The sight of it gave Aemond a strange sense of both excitement and power—he was truly riding a dragon now.

"Take us lower," Eddie instructed, his voice calm but commanding. "Let's see how well you can steer him."

Aemond hesitated but nodded. "Dōrī!" (Down!) he called out, his voice firmer this time.

Vermithor responded with a powerful downward tilt, his wings angling to descend toward the cliffs below. The speed was dizzying, and Aemond felt his stomach lurch. The winds rushed past them, and the castle came into sharp relief below.

Aemond let out an exhilarated laugh, his fear slowly giving way to pure joy. "I'm doing it!" he shouted.

Eddie grinned, giving him an encouraging slap on the back. "Aye, you are! But don't get cocky, my prince. Riding’s one thing—landing’s another."

The ground loomed closer, and Aemond’s confidence wavered. "Uh, how do I—?"

"Steady him! Use your knees, your grip—talk to him!" Eddie instructed quickly.

Aemond swallowed and did his best to follow Eddie’s words. He tightened his hold, urging Vermithor to slow down with soft murmurs in Valyrian. The bronze beast obeyed reluctantly, letting out a huff of impatience before settling down on a flat stretch of rocky ground near the beach with a heavy thud.

Aemond dismounted shakily, his legs wobbly beneath him. Eddie slid off effortlessly, landing with the grace of someone who had done this many times before.

"You did well," Eddie said with a nod of approval. "Not bad for your first real ride, eh?"

Aemond wiped the sweat from his brow, grinning despite himself. "That... was incredible."

Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. "And it'll only get better. Soon, you'll be flying into battle, making the other dragons jealous."

Aemond's grin faltered slightly. Battle. The word lingered in his mind longer than he'd like. But for now, the thrill of flight, the rush of wind against his face, and the power of the dragon beneath him consumed his thoughts.

As they walked back toward the castle, Aemond stole a glance at Eddie. "You were... too comfortable up there. Have you done this before?"

Eddie chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I might have a knack for it, my prince. But let's keep that our little secret, shall we?"

Aemond nodded, still unsure about Eddie's past but grateful for his guidance. Together, they made their way back into the castle, their secret flight leaving them both eager for what lay ahead.

Aemond was experiencing the best days of his life at Dragonstone. With Vermithor now his, he found a newfound confidence he had never known before. He no longer felt the sting of his brothers' taunts or the jeers of his cousins. With each passing day, he grew more comfortable in his role as a dragonrider, though he kept his accomplishment a closely guarded secret at Eddie’s insistence. Eddie had convinced him that revealing Vermithor too soon would only lead to unnecessary scrutiny, and Aemond agreed—he wanted to master the bronze fury before the world knew of his triumph.

Under Eddie’s guidance, Aemond visited Vermithor in the hidden caves of Dragonstone every night. At first, the flights were short and filled with nervous tension. The dragon's sheer power beneath him was both exhilarating and terrifying, but Aemond was determined. He studied Eddie’s every move, from the way he gripped the ridges of Vermithor’s back to the subtle shifts in his weight that guided the dragon’s movements. Slowly, Aemond gained the confidence to ride on his own, slipping away to the caves when no one was watching and soaring into the night sky with a newfound sense of freedom.

Despite his growing confidence, one challenge remained: the absence of a saddle. Riding without one left Aemond sore and bruised after every flight, and he knew he needed a solution before revealing his dragon to the world. With Eddie’s help, they ventured into the bustling streets of Dragonstone, searching for a skilled leatherworker who could craft a saddle in secret. They found a discreet craftsman deep within the market district, an old man who had once made saddles for dragonriders of old but had long since been reduced to crafting simple tack for horses. The craftsman eyed Aemond curiously but did not ask questions. Eddie made sure of that by offering a generous pouch of gold.

Day by day, Aemond’s bond with Vermithor deepened. The dragon, once wary and aloof, began responding to Aemond’s voice, his commands, and his touch. They soared over the black cliffs of Dragonstone under the cover of night, skimming the waves and testing the limits of their connection. Aemond could feel the ancient power beneath him, the heat of Vermithor’s scales, and the thunderous beat of his wings that carried them through the skies.

Aemond often found himself lost in thought, contemplating the future. With Vermithor at his side, he knew he was no longer the forgotten prince. He had power now, and power in the Targaryen family meant everything. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what his mother, his brother, and his grandfather, Otto Hightower, would say when they learned of his bond with the mighty beast.

Meanwhile, Eddie observed Aemond’s progress with a mix of pride and satisfaction. The prince had the makings of a true dragonrider, and under Eddie's tutelage, he was becoming formidable. Eddie, however, also knew that Aemond’s ambitions were growing, and with ambition came risk.

It didn't take long for the royal family and the nobles surrounding them to notice the growing bond between Prince Aemond and Eddie. What had initially seemed like a mere companionship between a prince and a squire had transformed into something much deeper—Aemond had changed. His demeanor was sharper, his confidence unwavering, and his ambition more evident than ever. He no longer sulked when his cousins teased him, nor did he look to his mother for reassurance. Instead, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who knew his worth.

Queen Alicent, who always kept a close eye on her children, was the first to voice her concern during an evening council with her father, Otto Hightower.

"Father," she began, stirring her goblet of wine absentmindedly. "I've noticed something peculiar with Aemond."

Otto arched an eyebrow. "Peculiar, my queen?"

"Aemond has always been headstrong, but lately... he has been more resolute, more... independent," Alicent said, choosing her words carefully. "He barely spends time with Aegon anymore, and instead, he follows that squire everywhere. It is as if Eddie is molding him into something different."

Otto leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "Aemond has always sought greatness. If he has found a mentor in this squire, it is not surprising. But a commoner influencing a Targaryen prince... that cannot be allowed to continue unchecked."

The conversation spread throughout the court like wildfire. Lords and ladies whispered about how Prince Aemond seemed to gravitate more toward Eddie than his own family. And it was not just the change in Aemond’s personality that concerned them; it was the subtle but unmistakable influence Eddie wielded over him. His advice, his teachings, even his mere presence seemed to reshape Aemond into something they could no longer control.

Ser Criston Cole was particularly vocal about his discontent. "Aemond has the makings of a true warrior, but he should be learning from knights of the Kingsguard, not a lowborn squire with no name to his house."

The king himself, though indifferent to the politics of his children, was made aware of the situation during one of his council meetings. "Aemond is my son," Viserys said wearily, "and if Eddie is a good influence on him, then why should I care?"

Otto Hightower, however, was not as easily placated. "Your Grace, influence is a dangerous thing, especially in the hands of those with ambition. It would be wise to ensure that Aemond's path remains clear and free from any... distractions."

As the whispers grew louder, Eddie and Aemond remained oblivious to the storm brewing around them. They spent their days riding along the shores of Dragonstone, exploring the ancient halls of the castle, and speaking of grander things—of dragons, of wars, and of the future. Eddie, despite his rough exterior, had become a mentor and a friend, guiding Aemond toward strength and purpose.

One evening, as they sat atop a cliff overlooking the sea, Aemond turned to Eddie with a knowing smile. "They don't want me near you," he said, his voice carrying a trace of amusement.

Eddie chuckled, tossing a stone into the crashing waves below. "Of course they don't. I'm just a squire. What do I know of royalty and power?"

Aemond looked at him seriously. "You know more than any of them, and that's what frightens them."

Eddie didn't respond right away. Instead, he stared out at the horizon, the wind whipping through his hair. "Power is a funny thing, Aemond. You either take it, or you let it slip through your fingers."

Aemond's expression hardened. "I don't intend to let it slip through my fingers."

But their moment of solitude was short-lived. Soon, royal guards began to subtly distance Eddie from Aemond, ensuring that their meetings were less frequent and their conversations less private. Eddie found himself under the watchful gaze of Ser Criston Cole more often than not, and Aemond was constantly called away for matters of "importance" that left him little time for his newfound mentor.

Despite these efforts, Aemond resisted their attempts, always finding ways to speak to Eddie, to listen to his advice, and to continue his secret training in the ways of the sword—and, of course, dragon riding.

But both of them knew it wouldn't be long before the crown found a way to separate them permanently. The game of politics had begun, and Eddie was now a player, whether he liked it or not.