The Cannibal soared through the sky, his massive wings cutting through the air with a steady, rhythmic beat. Every rise and fall of his body sent a rush of adrenaline through me, a feeling not unlike being on a roller coaster—except this ride didn't have any tracks to keep me grounded. Instead, I was suspended in the air, clinging to a creature that could shoot flames and, if it so inclined, might decide to eat me.
Rhaenyra led the way, Syrax flying gracefully ahead of us. Her dragon moved with a fluidity that seemed impossible for a creature of that size, like a fish swimming through water. Rhaenyra was a natural, her body moving in perfect sync with Syrax's motions. It was clear she had done this countless times before, and the ease with which she navigated the skies only added to her aura of command.
The sensation of flying on the Cannibal was something else entirely. There was a wildness to him, a barely contained power that I could feel in every movement. When he dipped suddenly or banked to the side, it was as if the world tilted along with us, the horizon spinning away and leaving nothing but the vast expanse of sky and sea beneath us. My stomach flipped with each unexpected turn, the rush of fear and exhilaration merging into something that felt almost primal.
The wind whipped past, tugging at my hair and clothes, the cold biting at my exposed skin. It was impossible to ignore the raw power beneath me, the way the Cannibal's muscles flexed and shifted as he maneuvered through the air. He was a force of nature, untamed and fierce, and I was just along for the ride.
As we flew, I found myself grinning despite the terror that still lingered in the back of my mind. The thrill of it was undeniable, the sheer freedom of soaring through the sky with nothing but the Cannibal's wings holding us aloft.
Rhaenyra glanced back at me occasionally, her eyes bright with excitement. She seemed to be enjoying herself, the thrill of the flight evident in the way she held herself. She called out directions to Syrax in High Valyrian, her voice carrying over the wind, and the dragon responded immediately, banking left or right as we weaved through the sky.
There was a moment when we flew through a bank of clouds, the mist swirling around us, and everything went white. I could barely see Rhaenyra ahead of me, her silhouette just a shadow against the light. The moisture clung to my skin and hair, cold and refreshing, and for a brief moment, it was as if we were the only two beings in the world, suspended in this ethereal space between earth and sky.
Then we broke through the clouds, emerging into the clear air once more, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. The ocean beneath us was a vast, dark expanse, the waves catching the last light of the day in streaks of gold and crimson. It was breathtaking, the kind of view that made all the fear and uncertainty worth it.
I couldn't help but think that, despite everything—despite the terror of climbing onto the Cannibal, despite the sheer insanity of flying on a dragon—it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. And as we continued to soar through the sky, following Rhaenyra's lead, I found myself wishing it would never end.
We flew on, the rhythm of the Cannibal's wings becoming almost hypnotic, the landscape below a blur of water and sky. It felt like we were the only two beings in existence, suspended between the heavens and the sea, but then Rhaenyra banked right, and I felt the Cannibal follow her lead. My heart leapt into my throat at the sudden shift, but I managed to hold on, clinging to the pommels.
In the distance, a dark shape began to take form against the horizon. As we drew closer, I could make out the rugged outline of an island, its tall cliffs rising sharply from the sea, crowned with a dense forest that stretched across the top. The cliffs were steep, their rocky faces jutting out like sentinels guarding the island, and the trees above them were thick and wild, a deep green that seemed almost black in the fading light. The waves crashed against the base of the cliffs, sending up sprays of white foam that glittered in the twilight.
Rhaenyra directed Syrax towards the island, and the Cannibal followed without hesitation. As we neared the cliffs, I could see the details more clearly—the rough texture of the rocks, the way the trees clung to the edge of the precipice, their roots digging into the stone for stability. The island was both beautiful and intimidating, a wild place that seemed untouched by time or human hands.
We descended towards one of the cliffsides, a flat area near the edge that looked just wide enough to accommodate the dragons. Rhaenyra guided Syrax down with practiced ease, the dragon's wings slowing their beat as she prepared to land. I braced myself as the Cannibal followed suit, his massive form casting a long shadow over the cliff as he approached.
The landing was surprisingly gentle, considering the size and power of the dragon beneath me. The Cannibal touched down with a thud that reverberated through my body, but the war belt held me firmly in place. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, grateful to be back on solid ground—even if that ground was a precarious cliffside hundreds of feet above the ocean.
I watched as Rhaenyra dismounted Syrax, her movements fluid and confident. She swung one leg over the dragon's side and slid down gracefully, her boots landing softly on the ground. She turned to look up at me, tilting her head, waiting for me to follow suit.
I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling slightly as I began to unbuckle the war belt. One by one, I released the straps, feeling the tension make its way back into body with each click of the buckles. My hands were shaking, not just from the adrenaline of the flight but from the soreness that had settled into my muscles during the ride. My ribs ached, a sharp reminder that I was still healing from my injuries, and every movement sent a twinge of pain through my side.
With the last buckle undone, I gathered what little courage I had left and carefully began to climb down from the Cannibal. My legs felt stiff and unsteady, my muscles protesting after the long flight, and I had to move slowly to avoid slipping on the dragon's smooth scales. Each step was a challenge, my body sore and aching, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through it.
When my feet finally touched the ground, I nearly collapsed from relief. I straightened up as best I could, wincing at the pain in my ribs, and looked over at Rhaenyra. She was watching me closely, a hint of concern in her eyes, but she didn't say anything, just turned and walked away from me.
I watched as Rhaenyra walked over to a lone tree that stood tall at the edge of the cliffside, its gnarled roots gripping the rocky ground as if holding on for dear life. The tree was massive, its branches stretching out wide like arms, casting long shadows in the fading light. She moved with purpose, her steps sure and steady, while I followed at a slower pace, still feeling the lingering effects of our ride.
When she reached the tree, she touched its trunk with a reverence that caught me off guard. Her fingers traced the bark with a gentle familiarity, and a nostalgic smile tugged at her lips. I watched in silence as she moved her hand over the grooves and lines, her expression softening. As I drew closer, I realized she was tracing engravings carved into the wood—designs and pictures. Some were large and intricate, while others were small and crude, etched into the bark over the years. The engravings overlapped, old carvings partially obscured by newer ones, a chaotic tapestry of memories etched into the ancient tree.
Rhaenyra's fingers paused on a particular design, one that caught the fading sunlight just right. It was a dragon, its wings spread wide as if ready to take flight, with flames etched into the wood beneath it. The lines were rough but powerful, the image full of movement and life, as though the dragon might leap from the tree at any moment. She traced the outline of the wings, her touch light and reverent, before pulling her hand away with a sigh.
She glanced down at the ground, her eyes searching for something, and then she reached behind one of the large roots that snaked out from the base of the tree. After a moment of feeling around, she pulled out a rucksack, its worn fabric stained and frayed from years of use. Without a word, she placed her back against the tree and slid down to the ground, her legs stretched out in front of her as she began to rummage through the sack.
I stood close by, watching as she pulled out an amber bottle, the glass catching the last rays of the setting sun. A smile flickered across her face as she saw it, and she uncorked the bottle with a practiced hand. She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply before taking a swig. The grimace that followed told me all I needed to know about the taste. Still, she looked oddly satisfied as she held the bottle out to me.
I took it from her, bringing it to my nose out of curiosity. The smell hit me like a wave, sharp and unmistakable—alcohol, and strong at that. It reminded me of the cheap tequila I used to drink in college, the kind that burned all the way down and left you regretting your choices the next morning. I pulled the bottle back, wrinkling my nose at the scent.
Rhaenyra raised a brow, a silent challenge in her gaze. Why did that look have so much power over me? Why did I feel this overwhelming need to rise to every challenge she threw my way?
My therapist would probably have a field day with that.
I met her gaze, unwavering, and brought the bottle to my lips. I took a large gulp, then another, refusing to break eye contact. As I swallowed, I saw her expression shift from challenge to something that almost looked like impressed approval. The alcohol was as awful as I expected, burning all the way down, but I refused to grimace or show any sign of discomfort. I simply pulled the bottle away from my lips and handed it back to her, keeping my composure intact.
Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up, I chanted in my mind as she continued to stare up at me.
"You continue to surprise me, Doctor Elizabeth," Rhaenyra said, taking the bottle from my hand.
I settled next to Rhaenyra, wincing slightly as I shifted my sore body, trying to find a comfortable spot against the rough bark. Our shoulders were nearly touching as we leaned back against the tree. I glanced over at her, noticing how she seemed lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
Following her gaze, I sucked in a breath. The sun was low, half of its brilliant orange glow already sinking into the sea, casting a stunning array of colors across the sky. Purples, pinks, and deep reds blended together, reflected in the gentle waves that lapped against the shore far below.
For a moment, I forgot about the soreness in my body and the lingering taste of alcohol on my tongue. All I could do was take in the beauty of the scene before us, the world bathed in the last warm light of the day.
"It's beautiful," I murmured, almost to myself.
"It is," Rhaenyra replied softly, her voice carrying a hint of that nostalgic tone I'd heard earlier. "I come here when I needed to think, or just... escape."
My eyes drifted upward, tracing the carvings on the tree above and behind me. The more I looked, the more I began to see patterns and connections in the images—dragons, a crown, and the sigil of House Targaryen intertwined with what seemed like personal symbols.
There were crude etchings of what looked like a young girl and a dragon, side by side, and further up, a more detailed depiction of a dragon in flight. The carvings felt deeply personal, like pieces of Rhaenyra's story etched into the bark over time.
"Did you carve these?" I asked softly, still studying the images.
Rhaenyra nodded turning her body, so that her fingers lightly tracing a familiar groove. "I did. Some when I was just a girl, others later. This place... it holds a lot of memories."
The weight of her words settled over me, and I felt a deeper understanding of the woman beside me. This wasn't just a place to escape; it was a sanctuary, filled with pieces of her past, her thoughts, her dreams.
"It's like you've left a part of yourself here," I murmured, feeling the connection to her story growing stronger as I took in the details.
Rhaenyra took another swig from the amber bottle. With a small, rueful smile, she passed it back to me. I brought the bottle to my lips this time unable to hide my face at the taste, but managed to offer Rhaenyra a grin.
She looked at me, her eyes carrying a mix of amusement and something softer.
"They'll write about me in the history books," she said, her voice holding a reflective tone. "But what will they say? Will my story be one of triumph or tragedy? Will I be remembered as a hero, a villain, or something in between? How will they define me—who I am, or who I'll become?"
As she spoke, her fingers traced the carvings on the tree behind her, the ancient bark warm under her touch. The fading sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting an ethereal glow over the intricate designs. Each engraving seemed to tell a fragment of her personal history, a testament to moments of her life etched into the living canvas of the tree.
"But this," she said, her voice softening as she continued to caress the grooves, "this is my truth. My life, not through the eyes of others, but through my own hands." Her touch lingered over the markings, some weathered with age, others still fresh, forming a mosaic of her experiences and emotions.
"This is my story," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the carvings as if they held the essence of her soul. "As I lived it—not as it will be told, distorted by the passage of time and the bias of those who come after. And maybe... I just wanted to leave something behind, something real, something that's wholly mine."
Her words echoed in the quiet, and I could feel the weight of them—the struggle to preserve her identity, not just as a queen, but as a woman—a woman who literally carved out her own place in a world eager to define her.
As Rhaenyra spoke, I was struck by the depth of her strength and wisdom. Her words hung in the air between us, each one a testament to her resilience and the weight of her journey. I was breathless, overwhelmed by the realization of how remarkable she was.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, the gravity of her confession settling over us. It was a moment of quiet reflection, where the world seemed to hold its breath.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra shifted, reaching back into her rucksack. My gaze followed her hand with apprehension as she pulled out a knife, its hilt intricately designed and glinting in the last rays of sunlight.
I watched warily, as one does when someone pulls out a large knife.
Rhaenyra examined the knife with a grace that was almost hypnotic. She twirled it effortlessly, her movements both fluid and commanding. The blade caught the fading light, sending shimmering reflections dancing across the ground. She flipped the knife over, presenting it to me with a solemn expression.
Confusion flickered across my face as I stared at the knife. The significance of the gesture eluded me, leaving me momentarily paralyzed.
Rhaenyra's gaze met mine, her eyes steady and intense. She leaned back against the tree, her posture relaxed yet filled with a poignant gravity. Her smile was gentle but tinged with a sadness that seemed to seep into the very air around us, tugging at my heart with an unspoken melancholy.
"We go to war tomorrow," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words cut through the serenity of the moment, a cold reminder of the impending conflict.
The stark reality of her declaration hit me like a wave, jolting me out of the fleeting peace we had found. The tranquil beauty of the sunset felt worlds apart from the imminent danger we faced.
"Even with a well-laid plan, and from dragon back, something could happen to me... or you," she continued, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of dread. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife, her unease evident.
She offered the knife to me once more, her eyes drifting toward the ancient carvings on the tree as if seeking solace in their silent, timeless presence. The deep grooves and symbols seemed to echo her thoughts, their stories intertwined with her own.
"If tomorrow is to be my last day," Rhaenyra said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I want to make sure you are a part of my story."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with their weight. I took the knife from her hand, the cold steel feeling foreign against my palm. I looked at the intricate blade, then back at Rhaenyra, and finally at the tree she had pointed to. The enormity of her request was overwhelming, a tangible pressure in the stillness of the moment.
Rhaenyra's eyes, dark and intense, locked onto mine. The silence between us was thick, filled with the murmurs of the wind and the distant calls of seabirds. It was as if the entire world had paused, holding its breath in anticipation.
"Make your mark on the world, Elizabeth."
***
Later, as we soared through the sky on our dragons, the wind roaring in our ears, I glanced back over my shoulder. The landscape below was a patchwork of shadows and fading light, the sun setting behind us, casting a golden glow across the horizon.
Far below, the lone tree stood as a silent witness to our departure. Amongst the myriad carvings that adorned its trunk, my own contribution was now visible—a simple depiction of a setting sun, with two crude dragons, one larger and one smaller, flying above it.
The fresh carving stood out starkly against the weathered bark, a piece of my story now woven into Rhaenyra's.