On the morrow, Lady Lyanna rests upon her chambers, hands clasped in anticipation. For tonight, she shall come of age and be presented with her own dragon, a momentous occasion by decree of His Grace, King Viserys. The whole of the realm shall bear witness.

Lady Lyanna's heart swells with both excitement and trepidation, for who would not tremble at the prospect? She is to stand before the kingdom, awaiting either the sacred bond with a mighty dragon or the flames of rejection. In her heart of hearts, she yearns for Blackfyre to choose her, for their night shared in the dragonpit holds a special place in her memory.

A gentle rapping upon the door rouses Lady Lyanna from her reverie. "Enter," she bids, and in comes her dearest companion, Princess Rhaenyra.

"Lyanna, at last I find you," the Princess exclaims. "My siblings and I have been searching high and low. The ceremony is nigh upon us. Come, we must make haste!" With that, she grasps her friend's hands, urging her from her bed.

The young Princess is already adorned for the grand occasion, resplendent in a gown of green and black, adorned with stripes of (f/c) fabric. A vision of beauty, truly.

As they emerge from the portico into the grand courtyard, the throne of the King and Queen looms before them. His Grace, King Viserys, has aged visibly, his countenance bearing the weight of his reign. Lyanna observes the toll the Iron Throne has taken, as it does with all who sit upon it.

"This way," Princess Rhaenyra urges, her grip tightening as she guides Lyanna to where their kin have gathered.

Lady Lyanna's lord father and lady mother beam with pride as their daughter, a maiden of eight-and-ten namedays, approaches in her resplendent gown. She embraces her father, her arms encircling his waist.

"Fear not, my sweet," her lady mother soothes, her hand gently caressing Lyanna's hair. "The dragons shall not harm you." Lyanna draws a deep breath, steeling herself as she releases her father and turns to face the vast arena before her.

The gates to the dragon pit creak open, unleashing a torrent of shrieks and smoke. One by one, the untamed beasts emerge: Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Blackfyre, and even Seasmoke stretch their mighty wings beneath the sun's warmth.

As one, their ancient eyes fix upon the maiden who stands before them.

Blackfyre, the majestic beast, is first to voice her delight. With a resounding cry, she unfurls her ebon wings, displaying her magnificent form as she takes to the skies. She circles Lyanna twice, her powerful wings stirring the air, before descending with a thunderous landing. The dragon queen, though young, remains a sight to behold, her years matching those of Lyanna.

Lady Lyanna, with bated breath and closed eyes, submits herself to the will of the dragon. Blackfyre, with gentle curiosity, nips at Lyanna's hair before drawing nearer. A giggle escapes Lyanna's lips as she opens her eyes, and her parents rejoice as rider and dragon touch foreheads in sacred communion.

The choice is made.

The other unbonded dragons unleash mighty roars, breathing great plumes of fire skyward in celebration of their sister's union.

Upon the dais, King Viserys beams with toothless joy, while at his side, Queen Alicent's smile bears a tinge of sorrow. Another of their charges has come of age without her, and she remains dragonless.

Her gaze falls upon her sons, Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond, transfixed by the spectacle of lady and dragon. "Boys, attend," she hisses, but her words fall on deaf ears. They remain captivated by the newly-bonded rider.

Little do they know, they behold one who may prove to be either their downfall or their greatest champion.

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As the afternoon wanes, Lady Lyanna remains in the dragon pit, communing with her newfound companion. Lord Daemon approaches, and Blackfyre's low growl betrays her distrust of the elder prince.

Daemon raises his hands in a gesture of peace. "My lady," he says, "I see you have at last formed your bond. Well done."

Lyanna, her face still pressed against her dragon's mighty throat, responds softly, "I thank you, my lord."

Daemon scoffs. "There's no need for such formalities. You're a dragon rider now. We stand as equals."

"You are the King's brother, my lord," Lyanna counters, turning to face him, wariness evident in her (e/c) eyes. "Your rank shall always surpass mine. But you speak true in one regard - we are both riders now. Pray, what brings you here? I had thought our previous discourse sufficient."

Daemon chuckles. "I merely wished to offer you a chance to soar. There's naught like strengthening the bond between dragon and rider through flight."

With a sharp whistle, he summons his own mount. A shrill cry pierces the air as a lithe, blood-red dragon descends upon the sands of the pit. Blackfyre and the newcomer exchange resonant calls of greeting.

"This is Caraxes, my dragon," Lord Daemon announces, his hand resting upon the beast's scales. "He may appear rough-hewn, but fear not, he shall warm to you in time."

As if to challenge his rider's words, Caraxes extends his great neck, his snout inquisitively approaching Lady Lyanna. A purr rumbles from his throat as he greets her with a lick. The young lady giggles, wiping away the dragon's saliva.

Daemon's eyes widen in surprise. "Well, I stand corrected. It seems he's taken a liking to you already."

Lady Lyanna favors Caraxes with a smile, her hand gently caressing his cheek, eliciting a deeper purr. Blackfyre, not to be outdone, huffs and nudges the interloper away from her rider.

Lyanna's laughter rings out. "Oh, do not be jealous, my sweet Blackfyre," she coos. "While 'tis true I first encountered him in the pit, just after meeting Syrax, you know well that you hold the dearest place in my heart." With that, she places a tender kiss upon Blackfyre's cheek, drawing forth a contented purr from the dragoness.

Lord Daemon shakes his head in amusement. "Come, we must take wing ere the dinner bell tolls. Our kin would not look kindly upon tardiness."

He mounts Caraxes with practiced ease, then observes as Blackfyre lowers her wing, offering Lady Lyanna a path to ascend. Though slight of stature, Lyanna manages to settle herself gracefully between the dragoness's spines.

"My lady," Daemon calls, concern tinging his voice, "will you not don a saddle?"

Lyanna shakes her head, her confidence unwavering. "I shall have no need of it. We'll fly gently, won't we, Blackfyre?" The dragon nods in assent, unfurling her great wings.

With a sudden burst, Blackfyre launches into flight. Lyanna lets out a startled cry, clinging tightly, yet she remains securely nestled upon her dragon's back.

Daemon's jaw drops in astonishment, then curls into a smirk. "Quite the woman we've found here, eh, old friend?" he muses to Caraxes, who rumbles in agreement. With that, they too take to the skies, soaring after the maiden and her mount into the cloud-kissed heavens.