Enigmas | Aemond Targaryen

THREE

There was no other sound in the Dragonpit, only the deep rumblings that moved rapidly across the colossal cavernous edifice, striking along the long brick-lined tunnels a thousand echoes. I couldn't help but smile at Vermithor when he slowly but surely emerged out of his lair, squatting before me, folding close his leathery tan wings to his magnificent bronze body and maws parting in what appeared to be a yawn.

"Iksan vaoreznuni naejot keligon aōha ēdrunon lēda Silverwing, jorrāelagon valītsos ." I am sorry to disrupt your nap time with Silverwing, lover boy. I said affectionately, reaching out my arms so as to hug him tightly around the neck, and leaning myself against his immense form. The heat permeating through his scales was quite so pleasant that I let myself remain still for a while longer. With another growl, Vermithor lowered and twisted his terrifying spikecrowned head around to nudge at me with his snout, unleashing a hot and heavy mist against my face. It stunk of pungent iron and sulfur, yet I chuckled, lightly smiting Vermithor on the snout. "Iksā sīr olvie quba, issi ao daor, ñuha dōna valītsos?" You are so very naughty, aren't you, my handsome boy?

"You know he's almost a hundred years old and outlived the longest reigning monarch of our dynasty, right?" Aemond commented, a hint of smile in his voice. Vermithor shrieked shrilly at once as if offended, smoke and steam rising white between his terrible yellow fangs. I had to caress ever so tenderly and sweettalked to him, "Sir, sir, keligon aōha vēdros, aōha dārōñe. Ñuha kepus iksin iocus lēda ao." Now, now, cease your wrath, Your Majesty. My uncle merely jests.

"No wonder they call him the Bronze Fury." Aemond observed. "A name befitting his temper."

"You don't want to know what he'd look like when his pride is truly wounded." I shot Aemond a warning look, hands still on Vermithor, pressing on with the task of placating him.

"So how do you hope to get us both on his prideful back?" Aemond cocked his head sideways, his curiosity so thick and ripe I could almost taste it in my mouth.

"Dragontails." I replied, letting go of Vermithor, instead taking out of my pocket a sprig of spiked blood red flowers looking ablaze in the dim cavern chamber. "A rare herb native to Essos, known to have a soothing effect on dragons." I explained. "My grandsire Ser Corlys once sailed farther than any Westerosi had ever sailed before, beyond the Jade Gates, to Yi Ti and Leng. He was the first ever to reach Asshai-by-the-Shadow, in which the ancient knowledge avouched our dragons first appeared. My grandsire found the dragontails there and brought them back to Driftmark, very few survived the transplanting, but still." I gestured for Aemond to spread open his palm and placed the dragontails upon it. "Here, you take it, and see for yourself."

Vermithor was immediately unsettled, roaring in high-pitched sound as Aemond hesitated not one moment before approaching. His fingers stained red by the juice of dragontails as if he had just spilled blood stretched out, making Vermithor tense his monstrous body and lash his previously coiled tail back and forth against the stone walls. A low hissing filled the air. Yet, when Aemond gently set the dragontails upon Vermithor's nostrils, the ever so proud dragon softened his entire comportment. His bright reddish-golden eyes akin to molten magma, with dark vertical slits as pupils, blinked; slowly, he padded closer and nuzzled at Aemond's hand, making him gasp in astonishment. "Sȳz valītsos, Vermithor. Sȳz valītsos." Good boy, Vermithor. Good boy.

"Get in the saddle. Quickly." I urged Aemond.

Rather reluctantly, Aemond drew back the hand that was scratching under Vermithor's great chin, gaze lingering. "Can I still pet him later?"

"Yes, yes. But now we ought to strike the iron when it's still hot, it won't stay hot forever." With all possible haste, I helped Aemond climb into the saddle and slide his feet into the stirrups. Aemond extended his hand towards me, lifting me off the ground.