With the help of the soft ladder hanging from the dragon saddle, Gaimon climbed onto Bahamut's back with surprising nimbleness for a six-year-old. Even at this young age, he had already developed a remarkable sense of balance and courage, qualities necessary to ride a dragon. As he settled onto the saddle, a saying came to mind: "The higher you stand, the farther you can see." This truth, he realized, had never been clearer than at this moment.
Although Bahamut had just passed his juvenile stage, his size was already imposing. Even lying down, he was more than three meters tall. Sitting atop his saddle, Gaimon could look down on anyone standing on the ground. From this perspective, the dragons of old truly could elevate their riders to god-like power, just as the Valyrian dragon kings had once claimed. For the first time, Gaimon felt what it meant to command such immense strength.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he reminded himself of the task at hand. The most pressing challenge was not the grandeur of his elevated view but the act of flying itself. Riding a dragon was unlike riding a horse; it was far more dangerous. One misstep at such heights could prove fatal.
First, Gaimon checked the saddle for comfort and stability. He fastened the safety chain connecting his riding suit to the saddle, ensuring that he would not be thrown off by sudden movements or turbulent airflow. This was not a precaution to be taken lightly. Falling from Bahamut while soaring thousands of meters above the earth would have catastrophic consequences.
Once securely fastened, he focused his mind on communicating with Bahamut. The dragon, deeply attuned to his rider, did not require verbal commands. A mere thought or subtle shift in posture was enough for Bahamut to understand. Feeling Gaimon's readiness, the dragon shifted onto his forelimbs, then ran a few steps forward, gathering momentum. With a powerful thrust of his hind legs and the lift generated by his massive wings, Bahamut slowly began to rise into the sky.
Gaimon felt every ripple of energy from the dragon's powerful muscles beneath him. Each beat of Bahamut's wings sent a shiver through his body, a mix of awe and the raw thrill of speed. The dragon's ascent was smooth, yet exhilarating, and the sensation of leaving the earth behind was both terrifying and liberating. Without the safety chain securing him, he would have had to cling to the saddle's handrails with all his might.
As Bahamut gained altitude, Gaimon observed the world shrinking beneath him. Buildings that once seemed monumental now appeared miniature, people turned into tiny specks moving across the Red Castle grounds. For the first time, he truly grasped the perspective of a dragon rider—the god-like vantage point that the Valyrian lords had once commanded.
Pulling gently on the reins, Gaimon guided Bahamut into a circle above the Red Castle. From this height, every structure in the castle complex came into sharp focus: Maegor's Holdfast, the White Sword Tower, the Hand's Tower, and the vast parade grounds where knights practiced their drills. The stables, courtyards, and bustling streets of the city were all laid out before him, an intricate tapestry of life and order. With Bahamut's strength beneath him, he could have swept over the entire castle unopposed if he wished.
The wind whipped past, ruffling his hair and tugging at his clothes. The strong gusts stirred commotion in the castle below. Servants and officials paused in surprise to witness the spectacle: a child riding a dragon high above the Red Castle. Their reactions were a mixture of admiration, fear, and disbelief.
"Oh, my Seven! Is that Prince Gaimon?"
"Glorious Gaimon!"
"Only six years old… and already a dragon rider?"
"The Targaryens are unstoppable. Another dragon knight in the family!"
Meanwhile, not all thoughts were celebratory. Some whispered bitterly, jealous or fearful of the boy's potential. Others began scheming, plotting in silence, as the dragon's shadow passed over their heads.
The commotion reached even the royal chambers. King Jaehaerys, who had been working in his study, heard the sudden uproar and called upon his cupbearer, Prince Aemon, to investigate. Aemon, the future heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, had long been trained to observe the kingdom and report faithfully to the king. Calm and composed as always, he walked out to survey the scene.
Moments later, he returned with a smile, gesturing for the king to look out the window. Following the direction indicated by Aemon, King Jaehaerys saw a sight that could have awed any monarch: Gaimon soaring gracefully above the castle on the back of a dragon.
"Haha! This child is already riding a dragon into the sky. I thought it would take years before he could manage such a feat," the king said calmly, a trace of amusement in his voice.
Aemon, in contrast, could hardly contain his excitement. "Father, it really is Gaimon! Flying on a dragon at such a young age…" His voice trailed off, lost in admiration.
Gaimon, oblivious to the gossip and whispers below, was growing accustomed to the sensation of flight. The initial trembling in his chest had vanished, replaced with exhilaration. He pulled the reins once more, signaling Bahamut to fly toward the outskirts of the Red Castle, pushing the boundaries of their speed and altitude.
The dragon roared as he obeyed, and the wind carried their presence far beyond the castle walls. The people of King's Landing noticed the unusual shadow and the distant roar. Murmurs spread through the city streets:
"Who is that, riding a dragon?"
"Can it be… a young Targaryen?"
Those who knew the royal family quickly recognized the boy. "That is Prince Gaimon with Bahamut!" nobles whispered among themselves, excitement sparking across their faces. The birth of a new dragon knight had been witnessed, and it was a spectacle that would not soon be forgotten.
Flying high above the city, Gaimon felt an unparalleled sense of freedom. The horizon stretched endlessly before him, the world seeming smaller and more conquerable than ever. With Bahamut beneath him, the skies were no longer a limit. He could soar wherever he wished, touching clouds and racing the wind. Every beat of Bahamut's wings reinforced the boy's growing confidence. He was no longer just a child; he was a rider, a master of the sky, and the inheritor of a legacy that had shaped the fate of Westeros.
As the sun glinted off Bahamut's scales, casting shimmering reflections onto the city below, Gaimon understood something profound: the bond between a dragon and its rider was more than just strength—it was trust, unity, and shared destiny. The world beneath them might be vast, chaotic, and dangerous, but from above, it all seemed manageable, even beautiful.
In that moment, with the wind whipping past his face, the city sprawling beneath him, and the powerful dragon responding to every command, Gaimon felt invincible. He was no longer merely a prince or a boy; he was a symbol of power, courage, and hope for his family and all of Westeros. The sky was his to command, and with Bahamut at his side, there was no place in the world he could not reach.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)