Dreams

He was in camp, his eyes focused on the slowly rising moon. The soft light illuminating his face, a large bruise placed upon his brow. He was sat atop a felled thick tree, the seat surprisingly comfortable.

They've been travelling for a full week now, the large retinue far slower than a singular man and horse would be. He was gently polishing his uncle's blade, he was his squire now after all.

He polished his armour the previous night, getting it ready for the tourney. His uncle was entering both the melee and joust, Aerion believed that the man would win it all. 

Though he'd never actually seen nor heard tale of his uncle jousting before. His eyes flicked back to the sky, remembering his dream from last night. He was atop a dragon, he felt a grin lightly tugging at his lips at the memories that weren't his.

It was only for a minute or so, and it wasn't even his memory but it—it was right, so freeing. But now he was back on the ground, he almost wished he'd never had the dream. 

Because now he has a taste, a memory of being atop a dragon. But he knows, even with his Targaryen blood, the king, the nobles would never allow a bastard a dragon. 

He couldn't blame them all too much either, give one bastard a dragon and every single one will want one. 

"Aerion" the voice made him jump, turning his head quickly only to see his tall uncle looking down at him. Aerion blinked and was about to respond before the man gently sat down next to him. 

His uncles open palm outstretched and Aerion carefully handed over the sharp blade. His uncle carefully assessed it and nodded. A moment of introspective silence running over them. 

The only sound was the faint laughter of men, the whinnying of horses and the quiet rushing of water from a stream behind them. 

"Where do you think I'll end up?" Aerion asked suddenly, his eyes now glued onto the moon.

His uncle hummed "The Tourney?" Aerion nodded in response, oddly sombre. The contrast of the minute of dragonback hitting him.

He was a squire, a bastard not a Targaryen dragon rider.

"You'll do good" he said with no hesitation "You're far more talented that I was at your age" his uncle reassured. Aerion blinked and turned his head to the man, the four-and-ten boy felt a smile tug gently at his lips. 

"Really?" He asked quietly. His uncle snorted and placed his hand onto Aerions shoulder

"Don't worry lad" he said as he stood, placing his sword into the leather sheath at his belt. "Get some sleep, we should be there soon" he suggested as he walked towards his nearby tent. 

Aerions eyes tracked his uncle, then wandered back to the sky above. He stood gently himself, he was oddly excited to sleep tonight. 

Memories of wind rushing through his hair, a large grin on his face and the world beneath his feet ran through his head.

Gods he hoped he dreamed tonight.

—-

He was walking—no crawling through a massive cave, he had to be silent. His claws gently scraping against the rock below made him trill gently in fear. His breathing quickened, his heart smashing harshly against his ribs. 

The familiar smell of rot and sulphur invaded his senses, the scales on his spine rising suddenly as his wings twitched. 

His head turned slowly, gently trying to track the smell, he knew who this was, what would happen if he was caught.  

The sudden clicking of a large tongue seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body, echoing in the large cave, a large shadow overtaking his form. 

He dug his black claws into the stone below, trying to ground himself against the rising panic. Though his breathing quickened despite the efforts to calm it, the scent of rot seemed to fill the entire cave.

He knew what hunted him, what was here.

Its head was gigantic and black, half broken horns rising in large spikes, some turning in on themselves pointing towards the own beast's head as if to skewer itself.

It's claws digging into the ground below, it's wingtips steadying itself as it effortlessly fit its body through the opening without a sound made. 

Its teeth were snapped and broken but still the length of short swords and as sharp as shattered glass, a crackling dark green flame building at the back of its throat. Half rotted scales seemed to run across its jaw, the flesh below discoloured and inflamed. 

Instantly Aerion dashed away, his claws scraping against the ground for grip as it ran through the cave, his wings still healing from his last encounter with this monster. 

The air cracked with green flame. Pain tore through his tail. He screeched but kept moving, the beast's roar at his back, every heartbeat faster than the last.

His scorched tail trailed behind him painfully as he dragged himself further away from the deformed beast. He tried to beat his wings but the pain was too much, so he stayed grounded.  

The beasts body lunged forward, far too fast for its sheer size, it's jaw only missing by metres. The whole dragonmont seemed to shake as its body crashed into the ground below.

He threw himself into a narrow cave, his wings scraping painfully against the sharp rock. The sound of the larger dragon screeching in a mix of pain and frustration as its head smashed against the far too small opening. 

The whole mountain shaking as it's deformed face smashed, again and again against the cave opening, it's rotting scales being stabbed further into the beasts discoloured flesh. 

Aerion scrambled further back, his wings pressing painfully against the sharp rocks as his body shivered and shook. 

Dark, boiling blood splashed through the cave, rocks and scales digging into the beasts rotting flesh, the scales had long fallen off. 

The Cannibal shrieked desperately, uncaring of the familiar burning pain running down its jaw. It's ruined body only angering the beast further. 

Aerion then woke with a gasp, his body shaking as the echoes of the dragon's shrieks seemed to reverberate throughout his body, his heart smashing uselessly against his ribs. 

His breathing was quick and shaky, a layer of sweat covering his body, as he desperately pawed at the thick blanket covering his form.

The dragons fear still clung to him, alien and unsettling as he freed himself of the heavy, stifling blanket he stood, his knees buckling as he fell to his knees and threw up.

The ghost pain of flame scorching his tail ran through his mind, his hands shaking as they held him from falling onto his face into the pile of bile. 

—-

He ran his hand down his arm, the sun beating down on him as he rode his horse slowly, his uncle to his right. He still occasionally felt as if scales ran down his body, always seeming to double check.

The pain of his tail that didn't exist seemed to run down his spine uneasily, dark claws sometimes seeming to appear on his fingers when he looked away. He shivered, an uneasy feeling running down his spine as his fist clenched around the reins. 

"We'll get you a real sword when we're there" his uncle suddenly said, the sound knocking Aerion out of his own mind. He turned his head to his uncle, a muted sense of excitement running through him. 

"Really?" He asked, happy but the feelings tempered by the aftershocks of fear still running through him. 

His uncle nodded "Kingslanding have the best blacksmiths in the seven kingdoms" he said as the retinue surrounding them chattered away, the Lord Bracken at the front in a large carriage. 

Sudden murmuring and whispers, even excited shouting rose from the surrounding nobles and guardsmen.  Aerion eyed what one man pointed out in the distance, he blinked as he squinted his eyes slightly. 

"Is that—"

"Aye" his uncle interrupted "That is Kingslanding"

"Gods" Aerion said, he could only see the golden outer walls but…it was massive, far larger than Stonebrook of course. The golden walls reflected the sun, horses rushed past him as they passed for a better sight of the capital. 

The Red Keep was beautiful, its form massive, the towers seeming to pierce the sky above. The sea behind the city glittering as the suns magnificence reflected off the waves. 

The smell of the familiar rot however, lingered the memories of the black dragon overshadowing his excitement. 

He turned his head over his shoulder, the old visions of fire, dragons and weirwoods rushing through his head as he clenched his jaw. An tendril of unease rushing down to his tail. 

—-

Thoughts?