Blood of Old Valryia (Aemond Targaryen FF)

Chapter Fifty

Aesira groaned as she sat up, her head pounding with a murderous headache.

She blinked through the pain to take in her surroundings. She felt sand beneath her fingertips, a bunched-up cloak cushioning her head, and a low-burning fire that did little to keep away the cold that seeped through the gray stone walls.

Aesira was in a cave.

The white stone walls and pale brown sand told her enough. She was on Evenfall again.  Aesira winced as her rumbling belly echoed in her ears, sounding like the loudest thing in the world. Her parched throat stung as she glanced around, searching for food parcels or a water skein of some sort. Every shift of her head and twist of her body sent pain lancing across her forehead.

Gingerly reaching up to feel out the source of the pain, Aesira felt the jagged edge of stitches roughly thrown together above her brow, right beside the white scar from the wound she'd received in Pentos.

She sighed, wondering which God she'd pissed off for them to contain her injuries to her face.

As Aesira emerged from the cave, her mind was still hazy from her previous slumber. Her legs felt weak and unsteady as she stumbled into the bright light of the outside world. The sudden glare momentarily blinded her, causing her to squint as she frantically searched for Luke, Arrax, or Sakaris. But instead of finding them, her eyes fell upon Vhagar. The dragon stood just outside the cave's entrance and there beside her, stroking her scaly face, was Aemond.

Aesira's heart sank as she frantically searched the skies, the beach, and the ocean for Luke and Arrax. She felt a sense of despair wash over her, and she took a step forward.

"This is all my fault, Vhagar. And I won't deny it." Aemond's voice was soft, his forehead resting against the monstrous Vhagar. She'd never heard him speak with that much regret in his voice, with that much anguish.

Aesira wouldn't let whatever he felt sway her. She wouldn't let it deter her. Without hesitation she ran up to him, shoving him hard.

"Where is Luke? Where is Sakaris? What happened?" Aesira demanded, her voice shaking with emotion.

Aemond's eyes were lined with tears when he turned to face her. She realised deep shades of purple had bloomed beneath those sad eyes. "I'm so sorry Aesira, I never meant for this to happen."

But Aesira didn't want his apology, she wanted answers. As she glared at him, waiting for an explanation, her head began to pound once more. Suddenly feeling dizzy, Aesira stumbled forward. Aemond lurched forward and caught her, whispering, "Take it easy, it's been two days."

Aemond supported her, his arms carefully wrapped across her back and chest, taking the full weight of her body into his arms while she regained her balance and tried to blink away the blurry, and double vision. As everything came back into focus, she realised that Vhagar had lifted her head and behind her, on the pale brown sandy beach, lay the wounded but breathing Sakaris.

Aesira pushed out of Aemond's arms as she rushed over to Sakaris. There were holes in Sakaris' beautiful wings where Vhagar's talons had pierced them and though the wounds had staunched and no longer bled, it was unlikely that the holes themselves would ever close.

Sakaris had been maimed before the war had even begun.

Aesira reached the blue she-dragon, as Sakaris all but grated her scaly face against the girl. The bond between dragon and rider was a mutual exchange. What one felt, so did the other, where Aesira had searched and feared for her dragon, Sakaris had searched and feared for her rider.

"I'm here." Aesira murmured against Sakaris' too-large face, "I am safe. I am unharmed. WE are unharmed."

As if in response to her comment, Sakaris lowered the wing closest to Aesira, almost daring her to repeat that while looking at the holes big enough for the girl's head to fit through.