Dance of The Dragonwolf

A Last Talk

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The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons.

Chapter 29 (Set Your Wings Free), Chapter 30 (The Young Dragon), Chapter 31 (A Song for A Lady), Chapter 32 (The Calm Before), Chapter 33 (Lady Hightower), Chapter 34 (The Storm), Chapter 35 (A Dance Under The Full Moon), Chapter 36 (Magic is Dark and Full of Lies), Chapter 37 (A Prince and A Princess), Chapter 38 (A Tourney of Sacrifice), Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow), Chapter 40 (Viserys's Decision), Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), and Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War) are already available for Patrons.

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Aenar Targaryen

"Higher!!" A thunderous roar filled the air, resonating through the vast training yard, as the commanding voice of Aenar's father reverberated with unyielding determination.

Beads of sweat glistened on Aenar's furrowed brow as he strained to raise his shield higher, the weight of his father's relentless attacks bearing down upon him. With every swing of the sword, his father's strikes grew swifter and more forceful.

Though Aenar's shield often managed to intercept and deflect his father's onslaught, the physical disparity between them became increasingly evident. With each clash of steel against steel, Aenar's determination burned brighter, fueling his desire to match his father's unparalleled expertise.

Aenar often was able to block an attack, but his father was faster and stronger than Aenar, and despite Aenar's knowledge of swordfighting, he still was young.

With the grace of a seasoned warrior, Aenar skillfully maneuvered his shield, narrowly deflecting the training sword's strike just milliseconds before it made contact with his gleaming metallic barrier. The resounding clash reverberated throughout the vast training yard. Feeling the sheer force behind the blow, Aenar instinctively took a few measured steps backward, momentarily recoiling from the impact reverberating through his arm and resonating in his bones.

Fatigue began to settle in his right arm, weariness creeping into his muscles as they strained to keep the formidable shield aloft. A sharp twinge of pain shot through his body with each subsequent strike.

Aenar usually had more stamina than kids his age and even older kids, but his arm was exhausted, causing it to throb with an unrelenting soreness. The training had been raging for three relentless hours, and despite his determination, Aenar could feel the tendrils of weariness creeping into his bones. Each breath he took grew heavy, burdened by the weight of his labored exhales. Sweat cascaded down his face in rivulets, akin to miniature downpours, as if his very pores had transformed into miniature storm clouds. The searing rays of the sun bore down on him mercilessly, intensifying the discomfort that coursed through his tired body. To exacerbate matters, the shield felt heavier; each sword blow he deflected only further emphasized its weight.

Aenar's muscles were taut with anticipation, and he raised his shield valiantly, locking eyes with his father. His father circled him like a cunning predator. Each step his father took seemed deliberate as if he were biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his lethal strike. Aenar, determined to show himself worthy, mirrored his every move. With a swift and calculated motion, he executed a decoy swing. However, Aenar consciously chose not to block his father's subsequent swing, which changed direction. As his father's blade veered towards his vulnerable stomach, Aenar deftly used his trusty shield, turning the lethal trajectory aside.