The War of Wings

Spirit

119 A.C.

"After the death of Sir Strong, it has been noted by her maesters that young Aemma became a child filled with rage. Induced by the pain she felt for her beloved teacher, the young girl, despite her age, developed a fierce temper. She no longer put up the facade of learning needlework; she trained in combat more than even her brothers. Her father, Sir Laenor, appeared to be able to control the child no longer, and her mother, Princess Rhaenyra, seemed only to fuel her Targaryen spirit." (Unknown Author)

The morning was cool and crisp. The sun had not come over the horizon, and light barely showed in the sky. Dew on the grass beneath my feet crunched as I moved to block a fake blow. My arm shook with effort from the metal sword I had taken from the training rack.I was not allowed to train with metal swords. My father feared I would hurt myself, and my mother worried I would hurt others. But when I woke early enough that not even the messenger crows had arrived, no one could stop me. I tried a move that Sir Strong had taught me, spinning the sword in my hand before stabbing toward the enemy. It was a more showy than effective move but exceedingly more difficult with a metal sword than wood. The blade slipped from my grasp, and I sighed as it hit the dirt again. I reached down to grab it again before jabbing the blade upwards as if towards an enemy's stomach. I practiced the move again and again. I was going to keep going until I stopped dropping the sword. It became more difficult as my arm ached for rest, and my elbow complained about being in its bent position. However, I practiced the move repetitively. The sun was above the horizon and shining on the walls of Dragonstone by the time I completed the spin successfully.

When I finished the spin, I gripped the sword in both hands and swung as if to cut a full-grown man in half. After that, I let myself rest. I stabbed the blade into the ground and leaned on the hilt. Allowing myself some time to recover. My early mornings allowed me time to practice independently, but it also had an additional advantage. I heard the screech from above as Ebrior flew high above the castle. The dragons flew from where they slept to bask in the sunlight when the sun rose. I could see Syrax's golden scales glistening from here as she soared through the sky. I heard a loud screeching call similar to Ebrior's and was stunned to see none other than Caraxes flapping toward where Syrax was gliding. The blood wyrms dwarfed the rest of the dragons, especially as I saw my brother's dragons rise from the ground.

  I watched them fly across the sky, overlooking their domain and the sea beyond. I couldn't help but marvel at their size, which was significant even from a distance. After they disappeared from sight, I quickly pulled the sword from the ground, giving it one last spin in my hands before continuing my parrying, taking a few slices, and blocking a couple of times. I tried to keep my body fluid and stance strong as I practiced because an off-balance fighter is a dead fighter.

  I stopped when the sweat had drenched my tunic and rested momentarily. I had continued practicing a little too long as servants were waking and preparing for the day. So I quickly cleaned the metal blade on my trouser leg before moving towards the courtyard. I could sneak through the servant's door, where there were few people, or slip through the main gate and hope no one was training.

  I decided on the latter option because I knew if the servants saw me, they would tell my mother. So I fled towards the gate. The holes in the wooden barrier were large enough to slip through, but I had to throw the sword in first. My shoulders were the most challenging part to fit through as they barely fit, but I slipped free once they scrapped past the wood.

  I was careful of the sword at my feet as I fell through the gate. I managed not to land on it before I picked my head up and looked around. Luckily, no one was in the courtyard yet, which gave me the perfect opportunity. I picked up the sword in my hand, moving swiftly along the yard's edge in case someone awoke before I put the metal sword back on the rack.  I had just managed to slip away from the sword rack when I had a strange feeling. The feeling raised made my scalp prickel and my hair stand on edge, and I whipped around to understand why. The feeling was of someone's gaze on me. I looked around wildly before seeing who had been watching me. Uncle Daemon was watching from across the courtyard. His hand rested on his sword, and his face held a content but slightly amused expression as he watched me. I felt my heart drop, and I swallowed, uncertain of what he would do. Despite all the worst-case scenarios running through my head, Daemon just nodded to me before continuing through a door on the way to the great hall.