Teaser of Dance of The Dragonwolf Chapter 25

Chapter 25 (A Cry of Despair)

AC 112

The air in the jousting arena was electric, charged with the resounding echoes of an immensely jubilant audience. Their thunderous cheers reverberated through the stands, blending harmoniously with the clattering sound of hooves colliding against the earth. Prince Aenar Targaryen, a figure of unmatched valiance and chivalry, emerged victorious once again in a round of epic jousting. With a regal bearing and an unrivaled skill, he guided his majestic steed across the vast expanse of the arena with ethereal grace. The common people, their eyes fixated upon him, stood in awe, for in that moment, he appeared as if he were a deity among mortals, captivating their hearts and minds.

As Aenar stood amidst the grandeur of the jousting arena, his gaze swept across the sprawling crowd until it landed on a familiar figure: his father, resplendent in his knightly armor. The clatter of hooves and the cheers of the spectators faded into the background as their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them.

Aenar's heart swelled with pride as he caught the glint of sunlight reflecting off his father's armor. The nod of encouragement that followed was like a beacon of unwavering support in the sea of anticipation. As the sun bathed the arena in a golden hue, Aenar's distinctive purple eyes seemed to come alive, shimmering with an ethereal radiance. At that moment, Aenar, with his noble bearing and princely countenance, was the living embodiment of his lineage, a true Targaryen Prince.

Despite the sturdy protective helmet donned upon his head, it proved futile in obscuring the captivating charm of Aenar's visage, as countless onlookers found themselves irresistibly drawn to catch a fleeting glimpse of his strikingly handsome countenance. As the years unfurled their tapestry of time, Aenar's allure only intensified, his features blossoming into a stunning amalgamation of his esteemed father and mother, prompting many to draw parallels between him and Prince Daemon, Prince Baelon, and even the illustrious King Aegon himself.

Wherever he went, ladies would whisper his name would float through the air, accompanied by soft giggles and discreetly pointed fingers. It was as if his mere presence had the power to make their faces flush with excitement. Yet, amidst the flurry of admiration from the fairer sex, Aenar remained unperturbed. The attention he garnered from these women meant little to him, for his heart yearned for the affection of two individuals in particular. One was a stunning lady, her radiance rivaling that of the sun, and the other, a beautiful princess whose grace and elegance were befitting of royalty. These were the two souls whose attention he sought, for they held a special place in his heart.

As Prince Aenar gracefully guided his majestic steed through the bustling Jousting Arena, his ebony locks cascading in the wind, he couldn't help but steal a moment to bask in the euphoria of the moment. With a regal tilt of his head, his piercing gaze caught a bewitching glimpse of Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Laena, their resplendent presence accentuated by the opulent Royal Seats that nestled them near the King and the unwavering Hand of the King.

In that fleeting moment, time itself seemed to blur, for though years had passed since Viserys ascended the throne and their paths diverged within the sprawling walls of the castle, the bonds of their friendship remained unyielding. The shared memories, the laughter, and the unspoken understanding were threads that wove an unbreakable tapestry of camaraderie between the three of them.

Rhaenyra had already claimed her dragon. Laena had yet to tame and ride a dragon, but Aenar had no doubts that she would eventually ride one of the largest dragons, even bigger than Cannibal.

With a suave demeanor and a twinkle in his eye, Aenar bestowed upon Nyra and Laena a captivating smile. His father had imparted invaluable wisdom on the art of conversing with women, advice that Aenar now wielded with finesse. As his lips curled upwards, a spell was cast upon Nyra and Laena, causing their laughter to bubble forth uncontrollably. Yet, amidst the mirth, Aenar's discerning gaze caught a glimpse of an alluring blush gracing Laena's cheeks.

As Aenar's gaze shifted towards King Viserys, he couldn't help but notice the unmistakable signs of distraction etched upon the ruler's face, as if his body was physically present in the grand tourney. Yet, his mind was persistently preoccupied with thoughts of his cherished wife. Aenar empathized with the King's predicament, fully aware of the looming fate that awaited Aemma, a gentle and kind-hearted soul trying to navigate the treacherous waters of a world devoid of mercy.

As Aenar's gaze wandered, his eyes welled up with a surge of heart-wrenching emotion, threatening to spill over in a cascade of tears. Deep within his mind, a forbidden path beckoned, tempting him to venture into a realm he had painstakingly evaded. Aenar swiftly shifted his attention to the figure of Otto Hightower, perched regally beside the King. In an uncanny resemblance the man bore an uncanny likeness to Littlefinger, both masters of the intricate dance of manipulation and deceit, shunning impulsive actions in favor of orchestrating calculated moves, reminiscent of the shrewdness that Tywin Lannister himself employed to shape the game of power.

Aenar's eyes went ice cold with hatred and anger. He knew Otto's oldest son was in this tourney; Aenar knew what he had to do. While it might not be righteous, Aenar stopped caring about being righteous long ago.

As Aenar's gaze swept across the audience, it briefly landed on Alicent Hightower, the lady who resided beside her influential father. In vain attempts to conceal her desire, Alicent couldn't help but cast longing glances in Aenar's direction. Despite her relentless efforts to initiate conversations with Rhaenyra, the young dragon princess showed no interest in diverting her attention toward the persistent noblewoman. Instead, Rhaenyra found solace in her exclusive friendship with Aenar and Laena, content with their unwavering companionship.

Aenar didn't care about her; she could look all she wanted; his attention quickly turned to face the next opponent in the Jousting contest.

As Aenar's lance gleamed under the sunlight, his heart quickened with anticipation. Behind his intricately crafted mask, a smile slowly spread across his face, the corners of his lips reaching toward his ears. The mask, a magnificent work of art, resembled the majestic head of a dragon, it's scale-like patterns and fiery hues capturing the essence of mythical creatures. Adorned with small dragon wings at the top, the mask seemed to come alive with every move Aenar made. With a firm grip on his lance, Aenar could feel its weight and power. His next opponent was none other than Criston Cole,

The Kingmaker, Aenar thought, taking a deep breath; it was time to make a big change in history.