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The morning sun had barely risen when Aenar arrived at the docks, finding Corlys already aboard a modest training vessel. The Sea Snake's expression was unreadable as he watched the young prince approach.
"You're late," Corlys stated flatly, though Aenar had arrived exactly on time.
"My apologies, Lord Corlys. It won't happen again." Aenar kept his voice steady, refusing to be intimidated.
"See that it doesn't. A ship waits for no one, prince or pauper." Corlys gestured to the deck. "Your first lesson begins now. Show me how you'd prepare this vessel for departure."
Aenar hesitated for just a moment before moving to inspect the rigging. He'd read about sailing, of course, but books were poor substitutes for experience. He began checking ropes and knots, aware of Corlys's critical gaze following his every move.
"Wrong," Corlys called out as Aenar reached for a particular line. "That's the mainsheet. Touch it now and you'll have the boom swinging wild before we even leave port."
Aenar withdrew his hand, frustration building. He moved to the next rope, only to be stopped again.
"No. Gods, have you ever even been on a ship before?" Corlys's voice carried a sharp edge of irritation.
"I've studied-"
"Books won't save you when a storm's bearing down and your rigging's in chaos," Corlys cut him off.
"Start with the bow lines," Corlys finally said, his voice rougher than before. "Work your way aft. Check every knot, every splice. I'll tell you if you're about to kill us all."
For the next hour, Aenar worked under Corlys's exacting instruction. Every mistake was met with a sharp correction, every success with merely a grunt of acknowledgment. When Aenar accidentally tangled two sheets while trying to properly secure them, Corlys's patience finally seemed to snap.
"Enough," he barked. "This is pointless. You're more likely to sink us than sail us. Perhaps we should-"
"No," Aenar interrupted, surprising them both with his vehemence. "I won't give up. Show me the proper way."
Corlys studied him for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "Why? Why is this so important to you?"
"Because," Aenar started, then paused, choosing his words carefully. "Because I need this to work for me, my plan cannot work if I fail. And because you're the best teacher I could hope for, even if I'm not the student you wished to teach."
The last words hung in the air between them. Corlys's jaw tightened, but something in his eyes softened slightly.
"Watch," he said finally, moving to demonstrate the correct way to handle the tangled sheets. "See how the lines need to flow? Like this. Now you try."
Aenar copied his movements exactly, this time managing to properly secure the ropes. Corlys nodded, the barest hint of approval in his gesture.
As the morning progressed, Aenar's initial clumsiness began to give way to more confident movements. He still made mistakes, but they became less frequent, less severe. When they finally moved on to actually sailing the vessel, Corlys's corrections, while still frequent, carried less bite.
"The wind's shifting," Corlys called out as they navigated the harbor. "What do you do?"
Aenar studied the water, remembering what he'd read about wind patterns and sail trim. Instead of immediately adjusting the sails, he watched the surface of the water, noting the changing patterns.
"Wait," he said. "This is just a temporary gust. The true wind hasn't changed yet."
Corlys's eyebrows rose slightly. "Explain."
"The ripples on the water," Aenar pointed. "They're not consistent with a real wind shift. It's just turbulence from the headland. If we adjust now, we'll just have to adjust back in a moment."
A long pause followed, during which the wind indeed returned to its previous direction. Finally, Corlys spoke, his voice carrying a note of surprised respect.
"Not bad. Not bad at all. Most beginners would have chased that false shift and found themselves in irons."
As the sun climbed higher, Corlys began introducing more complex maneuvers. Each new challenge brought fresh opportunities for mistakes, but Aenar met them with determination rather than frustration.
"Ready about!" Corlys called suddenly. "Show me a proper tack."
Aenar moved to comply, calling out the necessary commands as he'd learned from his books. The execution was far from perfect – the turn was too slow, the sails didn't fill properly on the new heading – but they made it through without disaster.
"Again," Corlys ordered. "This time, feel the rhythm of the ship. She'll tell you when she's ready to come about. Listen to her."
They practiced the maneuver repeatedly, each attempt showing small improvements. By midday, Aenar had managed several clean tacks, earning a grudging nod from his instructor.
"You're not entirely hopeless," Corlys admitted as they prepared to return to port. "Though the real test will come with rougher seas and stronger winds."
"I'm ready to learn," Aenar replied, carefully adjusting their course for the approach to the dock.
"We'll see," Corlys said, but there was less skepticism in his tone than there had been that morning. "Tomorrow, be here before sunrise. If you're going to learn this properly, we need every hour of daylight."
As they secured the vessel, Corlys paused in his work, watching Aenar properly coil a line without being told.
Aenar looked up, meeting Corlys's gaze. "Thank you for giving me the chance to find out."
On their third day, as Aenar struggled with a particularly stubborn knot, Corlys found himself remembering moments similar to Laenor's. "You're pulling too hard," he instructed, his voice carrying a gentleness that surprised even him. "The rope needs to be coaxed, not forced. You need to imagine the rope as a dance partner. You don't force a partner across the floor; you guide them." He demonstrated the proper technique, his weathered hands moving with practiced grace. "Like this."
On their fifth day, as Aenar struggled with the mainsail during a particularly strong gust of wind, Corlys's commanding voice cut through the sound of flapping canvas.
"No, no! You're fighting against the wind instead of working with it!" Corlys called out, moving swiftly to Aenar's side. "Feel the direction of the gust before you adjust. The sail is like a living thing - it needs to breathe with the wind, not against it."
Aenar gritted his teeth, his hands white-knuckled on the rope. "It's stronger than I expected."
"That's your first mistake," Corlys said, placing his weathered hands over Aenar's. "You're thinking of it as a battle to be won. At sea, there are no victories against nature, only compromises." He guided Aenar's hands, showing him how to work with the wind's force rather than against it. "There. Feel the difference?"
The sail settled, catching the wind perfectly. Aenar nodded, committing the sensation to memory.
On another day, while practicing navigation in choppy waters, Aenar miscalculated their position relative to a dangerous reef. Corlys's sharp eye caught the error before it could become dangerous.
"Look at the water's color," he instructed, pointing to the subtle changes in the sea's hue. "See how it shifts from deep blue to that lighter turquoise? That's your warning. The sea always tells you her secrets if you know how to read them."
Aenar studied the water intently. "Like reading a book written in waves?"
"Exactly," Corlys nodded approvingly. "Though this book can save your life - or end it, if you misread it."
During a particularly challenging lesson on steering through narrow channels, Aenar's frustration began to show as he repeatedly misjudged the turning radius of their vessel.
"Patience," Corlys advised, watching from nearby. "You're turning too early each time. A ship this size needs room to answer the helm. Think of it as dancing with a partner who's slow to respond - you need to lead with anticipation."
"How do you make it look so easy?" Aenar asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Decades of practice," Corlys replied with a slight smile. "And more mistakes than I care to count. The sea is the most patient teacher you'll ever have, but also the most unforgiving."
One evening, as they were securing the ship after a long day of practice, Aenar's curiosity got the better of him. "Lord Corlys," he began, coiling a rope as he'd been taught, "would you tell me about your first voyage? The stories say you were younger than I am now."
The question caught Corlys off guard, and for a moment, his eyes grew distant with memory. His hands, which had been checking the mooring lines, stilled. "That's..." he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "That's a story I was saving to share with..." He caught himself, pain flashing across his features. "...With Laena."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken grief. Aenar could see how much it cost Corlys to even speak of such things, how raw the wounds still were.
"Keep at it with those knots," Corlys said abruptly, his voice rougher than usual. "You're still not quite getting the speed you'll need in a storm." Without another word, he turned and strode away, leaving Aenar alone on the deck.
The following days saw Corlys pushing Aenar harder, as if trying to make up for that moment of vulnerability. They practiced sail changes in increasingly challenging conditions, emergency procedures, and complex navigational problems.
"Faster!" Corlys would call out as Aenar worked to reef the sails during a practice drill. "In a real storm, you'll have half this time and twice the wind!"
Other times, the lessons were more subtle. Corlys would have Aenar close his eyes and identify the direction of the wind by feel alone, or listen to the sound of the waves against the hull to gauge their speed.
"A good sailor uses all his senses," Corlys explained. "Your eyes can deceive you, especially at night or in fog, but the feel of the wind on your face, the sound of the water, the smell of the air - these things never lie."
Through it all, Aenar could sense Corlys watching him with an increasingly complex mix of emotions - pride in his progress, grief for what was lost, and perhaps something else.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments between lessons, Corlys would start to say something, then catch himself as if remembering that Aenar wasn't Laenor.
By the end of the first week, Aenar had mastered the basic knots and was beginning to understand the complex language of the sea. The way the wind spoke through the sails, how the waves could tell stories of storms to come, and the subtle signs that marked safe passage through treacherous waters.
One morning, as they practiced navigation under overcast skies, Corlys watched Aenar correctly identify a developing weather pattern. "Well spotted," he said, approval evident in his voice. "You have good instincts for this. Laenor..." he paused, swallowing hard before continuing, "Laenor had that same natural sense for the sea's moods."
"Tell me about him," Aenar said softly, adjusting the sail as Corlys had taught him. "About teaching him."
The change in Corlys was immediate and palpable. His shoulders tensed, his grip on the wheel tightening until his knuckles turned white. For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn't heard the question, his gaze fixed resolutely on the horizon.
When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff, carrying a weight that had nothing to do with the salt air. "There's a storm brewing to the east. We need to change course."
Aenar glanced at the sky, confused. The evening was clear, with only a few wispy clouds scattered across the darkening expanse. "My lord, I don't see any signs of—"
"Trust me, boy," Corlys cut him off, his tone brooking no argument. "I've been sailing these waters since before you were born. I know a storm when I sense one."
The second week brought more advanced lessons. Corlys taught Aenar how to read the stars, how to navigate by landmarks that only experienced sailors would notice, and most importantly, how to think like someone who lived and died by the sea's mercy.
During a particularly challenging lesson on maneuvering in tight spaces, Aenar managed to guide their small vessel through a series of markers Corlys had set up, effectively simulating the narrow channels of the Stepstones. As they successfully completed the course, Corlys found himself grinning with genuine pride.
"Well done," he said, clapping Aenar on the shoulder. "You're learning faster than I expected. Reminds me of..." he caught himself, but Aenar nodded encouragingly. "Reminds me of teaching Laenor. He had that same determined look you get, like every challenge is a personal affront that must be conquered."
"I wish I could have learned alongside him," Aenar said carefully, watching Corlys's reaction. "Two students might have made your teaching easier."
Corlys laughed a little for the first time since Laenor's death, a sound that surprised them both. "Easier? Gods, no. You're both too stubborn by half. You'd have turned every lesson into a competition." His laughter faded into a melancholic smile. "But it would have been something to see."
As the second week drew to a close, Aenar had progressed far beyond what Corlys had initially expected. The prince might not have been born to the sea like the Velaryons, but he learned with an intensity that spoke of someone who understood the importance of every detail.
On their final scheduled day of training, they took a longer journey, testing Aenar's accumulated knowledge. As they stood at the helm together, Corlys found himself studying the young prince with new eyes. There was something in the way Aenar carried himself, in his quiet determination and sharp mind, that reminded him painfully of Laenor. Not in appearance or manner, but in that essential quality that marked someone destined for greatness.
"Your plan for the Stepstones," Corlys said as they turned the ship toward home. "I think I'm beginning to see its shape. You're not just learning to sail - you're learning to think like them, to understand their refuges as they do."
Aenar nodded. "The best way to defeat an enemy is to understand them completely. Not just their strengths and weaknesses, but how they think, how they survive."
"Laenor used to say something similar," Corlys mused, his hand running along the ship's railing. "He believed that every enemy was also a teacher."
On the morning of their fourteenth day, dark clouds loomed on the horizon, promising the storm Aenar had predicted the day before. When he arrived at the docks, he found Corlys already there, standing beside a vessel larger than their usual training ship. A small crew was busy preparing it for sail.
"Good morning," Corlys called out, a glint in his eye that made Aenar immediately wary. "I trust you've noticed our change in vessels?"
"Hard to miss," Aenar replied, studying the ship. It was a beautiful craft, sleeker than their usual training vessel, built for speed and maneuverability. "Though I feel I should remind you about the storm coming in."
Corlys's smile widened. "Ah yes, you spotted that yesterday. Rather impressive, I must say. The way you noticed the cloud formations and the change in the wind..." He paused, clearing his throat. "In any case, yes, there's a storm coming. And you'll be sailing us through it."
Aenar blinked. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. It sounded like you said I'd be sailing through the storm."
"Your hearing is perfectly fine, my prince. Today, you're the captain. You'll give the orders, handle the helm, and guide us safely back to port." Corlys gestured to the crew. "They've been instructed to follow your commands, but they won't offer advice or take initiative. Every decision will be yours."
Aenar's eyes widened slightly. "And what happens if I make a mistake?"
"Oh, nothing too serious," Corlys said casually, examining his fingernails. "We'll just all die horrible, watery deaths. But no pressure."
"That's... comforting," Aenar said dryly.
"Isn't it?" Corlys grinned. "Now, shall we begin? That storm won't wait for us to feel ready."
As they boarded the ship, Aenar could feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. The crew watched him expectantly, waiting for his first command.
"Well?" Corlys prompted, standing back with his arms crossed. "Your ship awaits, Captain."
Aenar took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Right. Check all rigging and prepare to cast off. I want every rope inspected and every sail ready to deploy on my command."
The crew moved to comply, and Corlys nodded approvingly. "Good start. But you might want to hurry. Those clouds are moving faster than they appear."
Aenar moved about the ship, checking preparations himself, just as Corlys had taught him. When he reached the stern, he found Corlys watching him with an amused expression.
"Something funny, my lord?"
"You have the same look Laenor had when I first put him in command," Corlys said softly, then quickly added, "A mix of terror and determination. It suits you."
Before Aenar could respond, a distant rumble of thunder caught his attention. The storm was approaching faster than he'd anticipated. "All hands!" he called out. "Cast off bow and stern lines. We're going to catch the wind before that storm catches us."
As they pulled away from the dock, Aenar at the helm, Corlys settled himself on a nearby barrel. "Bold choice," he commented. "Most would wait out the storm in port."
"Most wouldn't have spent two weeks learning from the Sea Snake," Aenar replied, his eyes on the horizon. "Besides, you wouldn't have arranged this if you thought we couldn't handle it."
"Clever boy," Corlys murmured. "Though perhaps not clever enough to realize this is a test you didn't need to accept."
"Every test is an opportunity," Aenar said, adjusting their course. "You taught me that."
The first drops of rain began to fall as they cleared the harbor. Aenar studied the approaching storm front, remembering everything Corlys had taught him about weather patterns and wind behavior.
"Reef the mainsail!" he commanded. "Keep the foresail full for now. We'll need the maneuverability."
"Cutting it rather close, aren't you?" Corlys observed as the wind began to pick up.
"You said I'm in command," Aenar replied, fighting to keep his voice steady as the ship began to pitch more violently. "If you wanted caution, you chose the wrong dragon."
"Well said! Though I hope you have a plan beyond witty remarks."
The storm hit them with full force, waves crashing over the bow as rain lashed at their faces. Aenar gripped the wheel tightly, feeling the ship's responses through the wood and rope.
"Foresail half in!" he shouted over the wind. "We'll tack with the storm's edge!"
"Tack with the..." Corlys started, then his eyes widened in understanding. "Seven hells, you're not planning to..."
"Ride the storm's momentum? Yes, I am." Aenar flashed him a grin that was half terror, half exhilaration. "You taught me to work with nature, not against it. Well, this storm is as natural as it gets."
The ship heeled sharply as Aenar brought them about, using the storm's own power to drive them in a wide arc that would eventually lead them back to port. It was a dangerous maneuver, one that required perfect timing and an intimate understanding of both wind and wave.
"If this works," Corlys said, gripping a stay line as they rode up a massive wave, "it'll be either brilliant or the luckiest fool's gambit I've ever seen."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then I'll be sure to mention how impressive it was at your funeral."
Lightning split the sky, illuminating Aenar's determined face as he fought with the wheel. Every lesson, every correction, every bit of knowledge Corlys had imparted over the past two weeks came into play as he guided the ship through the tempest.
"Ready about!" he called as they crested another wave. "Prepare to come about on my mark!"
The crew, despite the chaos around them, responded with professional precision. Corlys watched with growing admiration as Aenar timed their turn perfectly, using a momentary lull between wave sets to bring them around.
"Now!" Aenar commanded, and the ship responded like a living thing, cutting through the waves despite the furious conditions.
As they turned into the final approach to the harbor, the worst of the storm now behind them, Corlys moved to stand beside Aenar.
"You know," he said conversationally, as if they weren't all soaking wet and had nearly died multiple times, "most students would have chosen a more... conventional approach."
"Would you have?" Aenar asked, still focused on guiding them home.
"At your age?" Corlys chuckled. "No. No, I would have done something equally foolhardy and hoped it worked out."
"Did it? Work out, I mean?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Corlys placed a hand on Aenar's shoulder. "Though I must say, your execution was better than mine was. Don't let that go to your head."
As they finally docked, the storm now reduced to a gentle rain, the crew began securing the ship. Aenar remained at the wheel for a moment longer, his hands reluctant to release it.
"Well?" he asked, looking at Corlys. "Did I pass your test?"
Corlys studied him for a long moment before answering. "You did something far more important than pass a test, Aenar. You proved you understand the fundamental truth of seamanship - that it's not about controlling the sea, but about learning to dance with her, even when she's trying to kill you." He paused, something flickering in his eyes. "Laenor would have loved to see this. He always said the best sailors were the ones crazy enough to try the impossible but skilled enough to survive it."
"High praise," Aenar said softly, "coming from both of you."
"Yes, well," Corlys cleared his throat, "don't let it go to your head. You still need work on your knots."
Laena Velayron
The sky was a mournful shade of grey as Laena approached her mother, Rhaenys, who stood in quiet communion with her dragon, Meleys. The great red beast's scales seemed to shimmer with an inner fire.
Laena's footsteps were heavy, weighed down by grief. As she drew near, Rhaenys turned, her eyes softening at the sight of her daughter.
"Mother," Laena began, her voice carrying a steel edge that hadn't been there before, "I want to become a better dragon rider."
Rhaenys studied her daughter carefully, noting the determination and rage that blazed in her eyes. It was a look she recognized all too well - the same one she saw in the mirror each morning since they'd received the news of Laenor's fate.
"And why is that, my dear?" Rhaenys asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
Laena's jaw clenched, her thoughts turning to Laenor. Her dear brother, gone forever. The weight of their unresolved arguments, the words left unsaid, pressed down on her heart like a dagger. "For Laenor," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll never get to apologize to him now. But I can make Dorne pay for taking him away from us."
Rhaenys's expression tightened, a flicker of her own pain crossing her features before she schooled them back into careful neutrality. "I see," she said softly. Then, with a hint of curiosity, she added, "But why come to me with this? Why not ask Aenar?"
Laena shook her head, a touch of frustration creeping into her voice. "Aenar is busy with Father. Something about learning to sail. Besides," she added, her tone softening slightly, "this feels like something I need to learn from you."
Rhaenys nodded, a hint of surprise and perhaps pride in her eyes. "Very well," she said. "But tell me, have you flown with your dragon yet?"
"Twice," Laena admitted, her frustration evident. "But Vhagar is so big, and I... I don't know what I'm doing. She doesn't always listen to me. That's why I'm here. I want to learn from the best."
A ghost of a smile touched Rhaenys's lips at the compliment, but it quickly faded. She knew, as did Laena, that Daemon was widely regarded as the most skilled dragon rider of their time. Still, she couldn't deny the surge of maternal pride at her daughter's request.
"I'm pleased you've come to me," Rhaenys said, her voice carrying a warmth that had been absent since Laenor's death. "I will teach you how to fly your dragon properly."
Laena's eyes lit up with excitement, but before she could speak, Rhaenys held up a hand. "But understand this," she said, her tone turning strict. "I won't tolerate any complaining. This will be hard work, and at times, it will be frightening. Are you prepared for that?"
Laena nodded solemnly. "I am, Mother. I'll do whatever it takes."
As they began to discuss the details of their training, Laena's mind drifted once again to Laenor. She remembered their last conversation, an argument about some trivial matter that now seemed so insignificant. If only she had known it would be their final exchange, she would have told him how much she loved him, how proud she was to be his sister.
The memory fueled the rage that had been simmering within her since his death. House Martell would pay for this. They would feel the same pain, the same loss that she felt every waking moment.
"Laena?" Rhaenys's voice cut through her dark thoughts. "Are you listening?"
Laena blinked, forcing herself back to the present. "Yes, Mother. I'm sorry. I was just..."
"Thinking about Laenor," Rhaenys finished for her, her voice softening. "I understand. I think about him every moment too."
For a brief instant, Rhaenys's carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing the depth of her own grief. Laena felt a pang of guilt; she had been so consumed by her own pain that she had almost forgotten her mother's.
"I miss him so much," Laena whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
Rhaenys pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. "As do I, my love. As do I."
They stood like that for a long moment, sharing their grief, before Rhaenys gently pulled away. "But we must be strong now," she said, her voice regaining its usual steadiness. "For Laenor, for our family, and for ourselves."
Laena nodded, wiping away her tears. "You're right. When do we start?"
"Tomorrow at dawn," Rhaenys replied. "Be ready. And Laena," she added.
.
.
As the days passed and their training intensified, Laena found herself pushed to her limits. Rhaenys was a demanding teacher, expecting nothing less than perfection in every maneuver, every command given to Vhagar.
There were moments when Laena wanted to give up, when the physical and emotional toll seemed too much to bear. But then she would think of Laenor, of his easy laugh and kind eyes, and her resolve would strengthen.
One particularly grueling day, as they practiced intricate aerial maneuvers high above the Narrow Sea, Laena's frustration finally boiled over.
"I can't do this!" she shouted over the wind, her knuckles white as she gripped Vhagar's spines. "She's too big, too unwieldy. It's impossible!"
Rhaenys, astride Meleys, flew closer. "Nothing is impossible," she called back. "Vhagar may be large, but she is also powerful. Use that power, Laena. Don't fight against it, work with it."
Laena gritted her teeth, trying to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing Laenor. What would he say if he could see her now?
"You can do this, sister," she imagined him saying, his voice as clear in her mind as if he were right beside her. "You're stronger than you know."
With renewed determination, Laena opened her eyes and urged Vhagar into a steep dive. The massive dragon responded, plummeting towards the sea with speed. At the last moment, just as it seemed they would crash into the waves, Laena pulled up hard. Vhagar's wings snapped open, and they soared back into the sky, leaving a spray of seawater in their wake.
As they landed on a nearby cliff to rest, Laena felt a mix of exhilaration and sorrow. She had done it, she had mastered a maneuver she had thought impossible. But Laenor wasn't here to see it.
"He would be proud of you," Rhaenys said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "So very proud."
Laena nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. She stroked Vhagar's scales, finding comfort in the dragon's warm presence.
"Mother," she said after a long moment, "do you think... do you think this will really help? When the time comes to face Dorne?"
Rhaenys sighed, her expression grave. "It will make you a formidable dragon rider, yes. But Laena, vengeance... it's a dangerous path. It can consume you if you're not careful."
"But they took Laenor from us," Laena insisted, feeling the familiar rage rising within her. "They have to pay for that."
"And they will," Rhaenys said, her voice hard.
Tomorrow
The dawn broke cold and misty as Laena and Rhaenys prepared for their first battle maneuver training session.
Rhaenys stood tall. "Today," she began, her voice carrying the weight of generations, "we begin the true test of a dragon rider. 'Tis not merely about flying, but about wielding your dragon as a weapon of war."
Laena nodded solemnly, her hand resting on Vhagar's scales. "I am ready, Mother."
They mounted their dragons and took to the skies, climbing high above the mist-shrouded landscape. When they reached a suitable altitude, Rhaenys turned to face her daughter.
"The first lesson of battle," she called out, "is to never present an easy target. You must learn to become unpredictable, to move in ways your foe cannot anticipate."
With that, Rhaenys and Meleys suddenly dove, spiraling downwards at a dizzying speed. Laena watched in awe as they pulled up at the last moment, skimming the treetops before climbing again.
"Now you try," Rhaenys instructed. "But be warned, 'tis not for the faint of heart."
Laena took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Come, Vhagar," she whispered. "Let us show them what we can do."
She urged Vhagar into a dive, feeling the rush of wind against her face. The ground approached with alarming speed, and for a moment, Laena felt a stab of fear. But she pushed it aside, focusing on the bond between her and her dragon.
Just as it seemed they would crash, Laena pulled up, guiding Vhagar into a swift climb. The maneuver wasn't as smooth as Rhaenys's had been, but it was a start.
"Well done," Rhaenys called out. "But in battle, you must be prepared for anything. Watch closely."
Without warning, Rhaenys and Meleys charged towards them. Laena's eyes widened in shock, but before she could react, Rhaenys veered away at the last moment.
"You must always be ready to evade," Rhaenys explained. "In the sky, hesitation means death."
They spent the next hour practicing evasive maneuvers, with Rhaenys playing the role of an enemy dragon rider.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Rhaenys introduced a new element to their training. "Now, we practice the art of the feint," she said. "Sometimes, the key to victory lies not in what you do, but in what you make your enemy think you will do."
She demonstrated, making as if to dive before suddenly climbing, then banking sharply to the right. Laena marveled at the fluidity of the movement, the way Rhaenys and Meleys moved as one.
When it was Laena's turn to try, she found it more challenging than she had anticipated. Coordinating Vhagar's movements to create a convincing feint while also preparing for the real maneuver required all her concentration.
"Remember," Rhaenys called out after Laena's third attempt, "you must commit fully to the feint. Your enemy must believe it true, else it will fail."
Laena nodded, determination setting her jaw. She guided Vhagar into what appeared to be a steep climb, then suddenly twisted, diving beneath where an enemy would expect them to be. This time, the maneuver felt right.
"Excellent!" Rhaenys exclaimed. "You begin to understand."
As the day wore on, they practiced more complex strategies. Rhaenys taught Laena how to use the sun to blind an opponent, how to take advantage of clouds for cover, and how to use Vhagar's size to intimidate smaller dragons.
Throughout it all, Laena found her thoughts occasionally drifting to Laenor. Would he have been here, learning these same techniques, if fate had been kinder?
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the land, Rhaenys finally called an end to their session. They landed on a high cliff overlooking the sea, both women and dragons exhausted but exhilarated.
"You've done well today," Rhaenys said, pride evident in her voice.
Laena nodded, understanding the weight of her mother's words. "I will remember, Mother. I swear it."
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