The next morning.
Jon, lying against the dragon’s body, drew a deep breath.
The cold air filled his lungs, carrying a faint smell of burnt pine, and drove off the last traces of sleep at once.
Frostflame was already awake, lying on the ground, dozing in the sun, her scales catching a fine silvery-white sheen in the morning light, as though dusted with a thin layer of frost.
She yawned, baring teeth sharp enough to run a bear through, and the hot breath from deep in her throat condensed into a plume of white mist in the cold air.
Jon got up, studying the massive body from head to tail, his gaze creeping inch by inch from her shoulder to her spine, then settling on her folded wings, working out how he might climb onto her back.
“I should have asked Maester Aemon how to do this, before we left.” Jon said, somewhat helplessly.
“It’s not quite like riding a horse, is it?” Benjen laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Thorne studied the massive creature thoughtfully, unconsciously rubbing at his jaw.
“I’d think the best spot is at the base of the neck, or a little further back along it. You might also try climbing up the wing or the shoulder.”
Jon, unable to think of a better plan, walked up to Frostflame, his boots crunching faintly against the snow.
Frostflame watched him with curiosity, her pupils contracting slightly.
Jon came up beside her, first reaching out to touch her snout, then running his hand along her neck all the way to her shoulder.
Only once he actually stood beside her did he realize climbing onto this dragon’s back was going to be far harder than he’d imagined.
Jon turned his gaze to the wing.
Folded, Frostflame’s wing did not sit far off the ground, its membrane showing a pale blue-white in the sunlight, the fine web of veins within clearly visible.
Compared to climbing straight up her shoulder, this seemed the only real option.
He took hold of the thick wing bone with both hands, its surface rough beneath his palms, and stepped carefully onto it, climbing slowly up.
Frostflame seemed puzzled by this, twisting her neck slightly, casting a sidelong glance his way.
He kept his weight low with every step, and the instant he reached her back, the body beneath him lurched suddenly.
Jon gasped, thrown against the hard scales, a sharp ache spreading through his back, and grabbed for anything he could hold onto beneath him.
Frostflame rose slowly, her thick hind legs bracing against the snow, her massive body lifting with them, and the whole world seemed to sway violently along with it.
At the end of two deep-grey folds on the dragon’s neck lay a gap.
He worked his way up along her spine, his knuckles white with the effort, and wedged himself right between the two folds, half his body settling into it as though he’d been made to fit there.
Frostflame tilted her head to look, then crouched down.
Jon’s heart lurched: “Wait! I’m not ready yet!” New chapters come out on g.com first.
The white dragon lunged suddenly upward, her wings striking the ground as she launched into the air, a huge wave of wind rushing over him, almost stealing the breath from his lungs.
Jon quickly grabbed hold of two thick spikes on her neck, his nails digging deep into his own palms.
He clamped his knees tight against the dragon’s body, lying flat against her spine, and could feel every beat of Frostflame’s heart, steady and powerful, like some enormous drum.
With every beat of her wings, her body rose and fell beneath him, and before he could even react, the campfire on the ground had shrunk to an insignificant speck.
A dragon’s roar shook the air, his ears aching from the force of it.
A bone-chilling wind struck him full in the face, so fierce he could barely keep his eyes open, tears sliding from their corners and scattering just as quickly in the wind.
The next moment, Frostflame banked sharply to one side.
“Ah… I…”
Jon felt the entire world tilt beneath him, his heart leaping into his throat, his hands clutching desperately at the dragon’s back as he nearly went flying off into open air.
By the time he’d steadied himself again, his chest was heaving, his breath coming as fast and ragged as the bellows in Winterfell’s smithy.
Frostflame suddenly plunged into a dive.
A wave of weightlessness seized his whole body, his stomach lurching, the snowfield rushing up to meet him at a terrifying speed, the trees, hills, and snow-covered rocks growing larger by the instant.
Just as they were about to strike the ground, Frostflame spread her wings wide once more.
The air seemed to burst open with a roar, waves of wind rolling out in every direction.
Her massive body skimmed past the treetops, and the snow was torn up into the sky by the passing rush of air.
Jon instinctively grabbed the spike behind her neck, and pulled gently to the left.
Frostflame actually responded.
The great dragon let out a long, pleased cry, banking with the motion, and climbed once more.
High above, the vast snowfield spread out below them, distant mountains rolling on and on, and the cave that belonged to Frostflame showed as a small black speck, hidden among the peaks.
The corners of his mouth lifted, without his noticing.
So this was what flying felt like.
The flight went on for more than an hour.
At first, he could only cling flat to Frostflame’s back for dear life, but bit by bit he began to make sense of the rhythm of her wingbeats, her turns, and her dives.
The wind howled endlessly in his ears, his cheeks numb and stiff with cold, and Jon kept feeling his way toward how to guide her — when to tighten his legs, when to let his body relax — and each small movement drew some different response from Frostflame.
Becoming a true dragonrider would still take a long time.
But at least, he had taken his first step.
Feeling he’d done enough for the day, Jon guided Frostflame toward the open ground near the cave.
Jon finally managed to climb down off her back, stumbling as he slid down along the wing to the ground, nearly pitching headfirst into the snow, and only just managed to steady himself by holding onto the wing.
The muscles in his legs and stomach burned as though on fire, every movement pulling sharply at them.
He’d barely caught his breath when Frostflame suddenly lowered her head and bumped his shoulder gently with her warm snout.
The force wasn’t much, but it nearly sent him staggering.
Those amethyst eyes watched him, carrying a faint hint of pride.
As though showing off about the flight they’d just had.
Jon blinked, startled, then couldn’t help laughing out loud.
“Old gods, you nearly got me killed.”
Frostflame let out a low grumble deep in her throat, her tail thumping once against the snow.
She looked utterly without remorse.
“Ow.”
He winced, teeth bared against the pain, but made his way slowly back toward the campfire all the same.
The blast of wind from Frostflame’s earlier takeoff had already scattered the fire out into the snow, leaving only a few charred streaks visible above the surface.
Benjen and Thorne, only once Jon had moved away from Frostflame’s side, hurried over to meet him.
Frostflame seemed entirely unconcerned, turning to nibble at a loose scale on her wing, her tail idly slapping the snow, kicking up little clouds of it.
“Next time you take off like that out of nowhere, at least give us some warning!”
Benjen grumbled, out of patience.
“I thought you were only going to climb onto her back!”
“That was Frostflame’s idea, not mine.” Jon said, still frowning slightly, slowly rubbing at his aching thighs.
“Still, I learned a lot. I think I’ve worked out how to guide her. A few more tries and I should get the feel of it.”
Thorne’s eyes stayed fixed on Frostflame in the distance, her head bowed as she licked at her scales.
“That was far too dangerous just now. You very nearly fell.”
Benjen let out a long breath, his shoulders finally easing.
Frostflame studied the three of them a moment, seeming to find it all rather amusing, a glint of something almost mischievous flashing through her amethyst eyes.
Then she leapt suddenly into the air, deliberately kicking up a cold whirlwind that sprayed all three of them with snow, fine flakes slipping down inside their collars.