Chapter Text
Frightening did not begin to describe the experience of being dragonback. And lovely as the view was, it was freezing at such a height as they flew for what felt like hours to Jiayi atop the great dragon’s back. It did not help that the sun had set during the flight, so now there was not even a faint beam of sunshine to warm her.
It was your choice to ride the dragon, her mind chided her.
Which was true. But it was not as if she could have done something else — heading alone back to where the man with his boat was out of the question. For one, she had no reason to trust the man. Second of all, what if that jittery man had already left? Or had left after seeing the dragon?
For if anybody on that island were alive when the dragon had taken flight, she was quite certain they’d have seen the creature.
A hand to her shoulder jolted her back from her thoughts. “—yi.”
“Yes?” She looked up to see the prince settling beside her, the fire cracking almost merrily between them. He set it up earlier and now it was just another reminder that since they’d landed, she had not been of much help. Too shaky from the experience, Prince Aerion had taken one look at her and told her to sit.
“Fleeing again? Tell me, am I truly so odious to be around that you prefer the company of your thoughts instead?”
Her cheeks burned. Sometimes she thought it was a small mercy that the prince even kept her around. “It is not that.” After a beat of hesitation, she added, “My prince.”
“Is that so? Then what is it that steals you away so easily?”
Think, Jiayi!
“There you go again.” He shifted a little closer, the flickering flames offering enough light to catch the beginnings of a cruel sort of smirk. “Slipping away from me. I do so hate losing to ghosts.”
Her mind yielded nothing substantial.
“Almost as much as I hate liars.”
The words tumble out when the silence dragged on too long to be comfortable. “I was merely thinking,”
“Yes, you do that often. Of what, pray tell?”
She should have expected this. “Of the dragon.”
“The dragon?”
It must have been the trick of light for her to have imagined the flash of disappointment in his face.
“What of him?”
“Well, their name for one.” At least she presumed he’d called it ‘Cannibal’. “And how do you know it is a male?”
The question is enough to lull the prince into a very in-depth lecture about the various dragons that House Targaryen had once ridden. All of which seemed to have died out, save for the black dragon that he claimed had never been ridden by anyone before.
Till now, Jiayi supposed.
“It’s not a very good name.” Being named after a trait of all things seemed rather cruel, even if said creature was a dragon that had a history of eating dragon eggs and hatchlings.
His brows furrowed. “It is a fierce name.”
“I suppose,” she conceded. “But it is more naming them after a trait than anything.” Whereas other dragons were named after Valyrian gods or by the riders themselves.
He didn’t reply.
And when she chanced a peek at him, he looked pensive — she wondered if he had drawn the same conclusion as her.
~~^~~^~~
The issue with having the dragon around is that they did not seem to possess the need to eat daily, whereas mortals such as the prince and her did.
This issue was further compounded when they were stranded on an island with no towns or villages nearby.
Part of her felt guilty about what little she could do — she could not identify what plants were safe to consume, perhaps back in her homeland, she could have. But here? That was not the case, especially when she did not know where they were.
Nor could she hunt or fish.
In comparison, these were all things that the prince was able to do.
The water is shallow enough, nearly past his knees, once the prince had taken off his boots and rolled up his trousers, stepping into the stream.
He has the patience of a monk as he stands still in the freezing water, a stick with a sharpened tip in hand, waiting.
Her lack of trousers made her unable to help — wading into the stream dressed as she was, she was more likely to catch a chill or be swept away by the waters.
Neither was ideal.
So she stayed perched on the shore, keeping an eye out to ensure the prince’s boots were not swept away by the running water.
He has a talent for it.
Or so she supposed.
She had not watched anyone fish before. However, Jiayi thought that he was rather proficient, considering that he was able to spear more than one fish.
“One day,” he tells her as they return to where they’d made camp the night before, “you shall tell me where it is your mind wanders to. Others become dull, yet you …do not.”
She did not have an immediate answer to that. And when in doubt, she defaulted to courtesy. “You are too kind, your highness—”
“There is no need for titles.”
Once again, she was at a loss for words.
“Say my name.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” he posed back, a faint smirk tugging at his face.
“That is because you are a prince—” She stopped when she saw his expression change. “What is it?”
“I seem to remember you had no issue with my name when we were travelling. Nor did you falter when calling me your husband.”
“That was different.”
“How so?” He was deriving far too much amusement from this.
It was an alias. For survival. Yet the words would not come out.
“What happened to the bold little thing that ordered me about?”
She shook her head, refusing to deign him with an answer. Was it her imagination, or had he stepped a bit closer to her?
“Then say my name.” With his free hand, he gestured to the wilderness around them. There was not a creature — save the dead fish — around besides them. “If it is reputation you fear for, I do not think the trees will whisper a word to anyone.”
“You are an impossible man,” she finally manages to splutter out. Were she not stranded in the middle of nowhere, she might have left him to make his way back himself.
Smugness blooms on his face. “Ah, so she speaks after all. But that is not my name.”
With a heavy exhale, she conceded to the request. Knowing the prince, he would not drop the matter otherwise. “Fine.” Reluctantly, Jiayi admitted to herself that he had a point; it was not as if there was anyone around.
“Well? I’m waiting.”
“Aerion.”
~~^~~^~~
There is something about the way that Jiayi pronounces his name in High Valyrian. The way she sounds so exasperated, as if he were a bothersome pest and not a dragon-riding Targaryen.
And it was a novelty if Aerion were to be honest, one that he did not dislike as much as he’d imagined.
He wants to hear it again.
Back in Westeros, save his family, none dared to name him without a title. It was always a ‘my lord’, ‘my prince’, ‘your highness’ or whatnot. Always a title, served with a tedious heap of flattery, fear or barely veiled disdain.
With Jiayi, it was different.
It was not often that she forwent courtesy with him — the lady wore them like armour at times — and she seemed to avoid saying his name, making the moments that she did, so very memorable.
Aerion had not considered the many ways his name might be uttered until he met her. The way she spoke it in indignation, embarrassment, exasperation and more.
Privately, he was determined to uncover what other tones she might say his name in.
And loath as he is to admit any weakness, he cannot forget the soft way she murmured ‘Prince Aerion’ that night in Myr. A moment that he replays all too often in the privacy of his mind.
~~^~~^~~
Three more sunrises on this island pass before Jiayi grows more comfortable with calling him by name.
And during those days, a bond of sorts had been established between her and Cannibal after she’d tentatively reached out to remove an old scale that the dragon hadn’t managed to rid itself of despite its many attempts otherwise.
The action had granted Jiayi a bit of leeway with the dragon, who now let her approach on her own. Particularly as she’d managed to tug free a few more old scales that were being pushed free to make way for new scales.
This was not to say that he did not make the effort to do the same for Cannibal. Though he suspected the dragon preferred it when it was Jiayi doing so.
It would not be so surprising were it the truth, of the two of them, Jiayi is far more approachable.
She was also fond of her courtesies, although he did not know if dragons, intelligent as they were, cared for such. Not that it stopped her from murmuring to the dragon in High Valyrian, like when asking permission to remove half-shed scales.
A lesser man might have been jealous that his dragon showed favour to another.
But Aerion was pleased that the two could coexist, for he would not sacrifice one for the other.
Perhaps it was selfish to want for both, but — well, he had no excuse; it was selfish and he stood by that.
The only thing that he wished would change is how a tinge of fright still hung around her whenever she approached Cannibal.
This could not be.
Especially when they were both equally important.
~~^~~^~~
Ever since he’d bonded with Cannibal, a presence of sorts had settled at the back of his mind. Foreign, yet not invasive. Was this the bond that some of the books spoke of?
There was a sense of emotions or thoughts that were not his, some of which were harder to describe than others.
Wrath was easy to feel; the creature had a simmering anger within it, and its penchant for chaos.
Aerion wondered if it was due to Cannibal being unclaimed for so many years. Or if it was simply because his bond with the dragon was still days old.
What he did know was that there was a hollowness filled — one he had not known that he’d possessed until meeting the dragon.
The bond goes both ways — or so one of those books had said — so he settled against the dragon’s side for the night, his thoughts wandered to wondering what it was the dragon felt from its end of the bond.
The answer remained elusive as ever when sleep finally claimed him for the night.
~~^~~^~~
There were only so many meals of fish a man could eat before growing tired of the taste. Not to mention his desire to return to civilization — oh, what he’d give for well, seasoned food and a warm bed.
For this reason, he sought out Jiayi in the morning, hoping to tell her of his plan to fly from this island, only to find her once again looking over Cannibal’s scales, meticulously removing any half-shed scales.
Cannibal would be spoiled rotten at this rate. It had survived decades, if not a century at the very least, on its own — yet it decided now it couldn’t stand any half-shed scales?
Ridiculous.
"Jiayi.”
“Yes?”
“We should leave soon.”
At that, she stops to turn to glance at him. “We?”
“Yes, to Braavos. Though you’re welcome to stay behind if you’d like.” Not that he’d let her.
Predictably, she agrees despite her lingering fear of Cannibal.
Besides, her fear was not a foolish thing.
Dragons were not pets to be coddled with.
And if anything, he might have found her foolish if she were not even a teensy bit frightened of the dragon.
~~^~~^~~
Given Cannibal’s age and subsequently, his size, it was a bit of a climb to get into a comfortable position on Cannibal’s back.
There are spiked ridges to avoid — the hem of Jiayi’s dress had been victim to such on more than one occasion.
Faintly, he makes a note that he will have to get them both something more practical for the future.
Leather perhaps.
And some sort of saddle will have to be made — for that was how his ancestors had ridden them. And it would hopefully assuage her fear of falling off mid-flight. Not that he’d let that happen.
But until then, she would have to settle for holding onto him.
As she settled behind him, he silently urged Cannibal to take flight.
Sōvēs.
While the books spoke of whips and spoken command, Aerion found that speech was not always necessary.
Following his silent command, Cannibal rose a little higher before dropping into a steep dive.
Laughter spilled out of him as she shrieked his name, her hold tightening as they barrelled toward the waters.
His name on her tongue sent a thrill down his spine, sharper than he cared to ever admit.
At the very last moment, Cannibal levelled himself, skimming just above the water instead of crashing.