Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

Chimeras

Bran Umber POV

This wasn't the ideal way he considered to spend his morning. Shadowing a southern royal instead of sharpening his training skills, taking a look on the dreadfully vague tomes of prohecy. Or, really pursing any other avenues.

But no. His instincts guided him here. Petty grievances couldn't steer him away.

Pitty.

"Do you need anything, Lord Umber?"

In his momentary lapse of judgment, the one-eyed prince circled back and is now standing behind him, his tone is measured but threatening.

Flourish for the dramatic is in his blood.

"Now that you mention it, I have been looking forward to take your new shining armor, my prince. Perhaps you'll be a good sport and agree to bet it the next time we cross swords."

It did occur to him to speak of his purpose quickly. Small talk irritated him usually. And the prince was certainly not his go-to buddy, even if he was in the mood.

But the comeback was on the tip of his tongue. And who was he to defy the will of the Fates.

"Hm. Why didn't you lay the challenge in full view of the public? Were you afraid I'd accept and humiliate you in front of all the castle?"

Pompous isn't the word that comes to mind. A little dragon twat seems more appropriate. But no, Bran's actually here for a reason. So he'll let it pass.

"If anything, I was being uncharacteristically charitable. To beat a tired man would be no true victory. But I'm open to change my mind at the moment."

Maybe he lied. Just a little bit. He was provoked though.

Aemond smiled at his reply. Was he a court fool without his knowledge.

"Tempting offer. But seeing as I bested the finest swordsman in the North, it'd be in poor taste for me to add insult into injury if I put his cousin out of commission. I am a mere guest here after all." Aemond put his hands out as if explaining to a crowd the origin of his refusal and be still be sympathetic in their eyes.

"You're redefining royal cowardice, but to each his own." He scoffed and gripped the dragon prince's forearm before he can snark back or actually escalate to physical blows.

The air around them stilled as the heir to the Last Hearth tapped into into the Targaryen's aura.

As expected.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Aemond pushed him back, equal parts angry and confused.

Bran's eyes were clouded with virtually ancient knowledge. The young dragonrider was slowly losing his patience with every passing second his question was left unanswered.

"How long have you a warg for prince Aemond?"

He had no need for a response. But he wanted to reveal why the duration interest him.

"Nearly a year. Why?" The Targaryen spoke reluctantly. His suspicions clear to what the Umber lordling is up to.

"And how did you stumble on the brilliant idea of warging your dragon from a distance?" The appropriate amount of sarcasm and mockery went into his delivery.

"What are you on about?" Aemond relied to his inquiry with one of his own. Seemingly chocked on this continued turn of events.

No. He couldn't have done it subconsciously. Bran sensed a building level of energy at the duel. This was intentional. And he was hiding it for some reason.