Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Twenty Four

"Wait, wait," Aesira said through gritted teeth, hastily retying Aemond's half updo.

"Better?" Aemond huffed, his hand hovering on the door of the Royal Wheelhouse. She knew it was their own fault. Well, Aemond's more than hers. It had been his idea to crawl under her skirts and feast on her while they rode for the Sept.

Aesira scrunched her nose, hoping neither of them reeked of sex. She laughed softly as she finished righting the mess his hair had been, "The style becomes you well, but I do have my preferences and it definitely isn't the updo."

He swung the door open with ease and stepped out on the cobblestone street before holding out his arm to her, "I'm sure you do, my Lady, my love.."

Aesira blushed as she curled her fingers around his forearm, using the grip to aid her as she stepped out of the Wheelhouse. They'd chosen, for the extra time, it allowed them, to be carted straight to the dragon gate. Though there would be no one to care for the Wheelhouse while they were inside the dragonpit, Aesira doubted anyone in King's Landing would be stupid enough to steal it.

Aesira kept a small space between them as they strode for the small gate that would lead to the arena, hoping the space would afford them a modicum of sense. Some small part of her feared that if anyone glanced at them, walking side by side, it would give away the new secrets they shared.

Aethan and Rana had journeyed alongside the wheelhouse, and as they neared the small door, the little boy skittered towards it and thrust it open for the approaching party. Aemond walked through first, then Aesira, and finally Aethan.

The air was musty, and heavy with sand. It was the smell that had her recoiling every time she visited the dragonpit. The smell of decaying meat and ash. The blackened walls along the hallway they treaded were coated in a thin layer of soot. Not that any of the dragons ever made it to that hallway, it was the smoke from their flames that did.

She could still feel the chill from the small door just feet behind them when Sanlow came into view. Aesira was fully prepared to yell at him for allowing this Archmaester near Sakaris but no sooner had she opened her mouth than a loud ROAR! rang through the corridor, bouncing off the soot-covered walls and quaking the sand-covered ground beneath them.

Aesira didn't wait for the quaking to stop or the roar to be silenced. She would recognise that roar anywhere. Taking off at a sprint, she barely hoisted her skirts from the floor in time. Vaguely aware of Aemond beside her, trying and failing to beat her to the arena, Aesira rounded the final corner and stopped, taking in the scene.

Sakaris was in the arena, still chained, and being prodded with many sticks while a dozen dragonkeepers commanded that the she-dragon calm down, that she find her peace.

Their words were loud but it was the man at the center of the group who court her attention. Dressed in red and gold robes, the short golden-haired man approached Sakaris with his hands raised. The blue dragon's snout was anchored to the ground as she fought desperately to pull herself free.

Aesira knew Sakaris wouldn't use her flame against them, not unless Aesira told her to. Never once had she thought those months of rigorous training would prove to be such a detriment. One blast of flame could have killed all of them, but it would have freed the dragon.

Aesira broke into a run again, her hair coming completely undone as the clips tumbled out of her hair. She yanked the prodding stick out of the hands of the dragonkeeper she'd come across first.

She jabbed him in the stomach, whacked him on his bald head, and then swept his feet out from under him. She whirled on the next one just as Aemond reached him, disarmed him, and shoved him to the floor as well.