Fourteen - The Battle of Storm's End.

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Taking flight to the skies for the first time, Laenora Velaryon found that, finally, for another first in her life; she felt like a Targaryen. She was no longer a bastard, but instead a dragon rider, no longer the false heir to the throne, but the future queen, and no longer a girl with a sword, playing at a man's game, but instead a warrior with dragons fire in her belly and blood of the beast in her veins. In the skies, she was home, and there she had never been more of herself.

Of course, she still felt the touch of her namesake even aback of a dragon. A Velaryon. The Velaryon Queen. Laenor born again. Her bastard blood did not turn the tides against her, nor did the blood of the dragon.

She was both of them. A Targaryen, Rhaenyra and Daemon and Viserys, and a Velaryon, Laenor and Laena and Corlys.

In the skies, she knew, she could be both a Velaryon and Targaryen, born again.

"Lykiri Cannibal! Ryptegon nuha udrazma!" Calmly Cannibal! Listen to my command! "A aemogan an." You have me.

The dragon screeched in response of her voice, soaring whichever way her reigns pulled, responding to her gentle hand pawing at his spines for leverage. For a dragon that had never had a rider before, he had adhered to every part of her, her command, her touch, her voice, one would assume he had been born to her.

But the Cannibal and Laenora had and would always be two in the same, both wild and hard to tame, unagainst killing their kin, their destiny would always have been inescapably together. In life, and death.

"Luke ziksoso jozila - zikoso hen ilva. Sovegon Cannibal!" Luke will be proud of me - proud of us. Fly Cannibal!

As the princess neared closer to stormsend she could not shake the thought of her small brothers face when her dragon would land beside his and he would see her aback the wildest beast there ever was. She could picture so clearly how much his sweet face would shine upon her as if she were being bathed in sunlight, and how warm his gentle embrace would feel, like the fire had been in Aemond's bed chambers.

Aemond. What would he think of it all?

The bastard wished not to even think of him, to ceaselessly burn all memory of her uncle from her mind, but alas she could not. For all she could allow her brain to conjure was the thought of him flying beside her, grinning at one another aback their dragons. She could hear his voice whispering never ending assurances of his pride in her having claimed the Cannibal, just as he knew she would. She imagined being held by him again, in his arms, crying as she thought she had not only lost her grandfather and her crown, but him too. Her favourite uncle.

She could have forgiven his assistance in Aegon taking her throne, if only it meant he'd have stayed.

That was the part of her she hated, some deep seeded Targaryen need for a niece to wed her uncle. After all, she only wanted him because they'd been each other's rock in a brief time of need, it couldn't be due to their relation, and surely not because of a life long dormant yearning.

Similar to that of Aegon. But in his case the yearning had always been so dastardly one sided, and Laenora knew it too. As everyone, even Helaena did. Laenora could bet that if he even knew of Cannibals existence he would challenge her, to prove his worth, to prove her unworthy of the throne, to prove her his, tearing through the sky on Sunfyre only for he himself to be torn from the horizon for stealing her mothers birthright.

How could Aemond even think to stand of it? To condone it? To allow it? Why the fucking letter? All he wanted was to pour salt in the wound.

"Hightower cunt." She grit her teeth as the Cannibal came to an unsteady landing beneath a fierce cloud of rain, landing on stone.

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