Jaime won't go anywhere. Tight in the saddle, belted in, and Daemon caging him. (Even if Daemon gets flung, Jaime will still be there, though probably very confused.)
Deafening air rushes past them, the only sound audible over it the powerful beating of Caraxes' wings. Easy to see why Targaryens consider themselves above mortal men— easy to see why droves of people might worship a girl who drew three of these creatures from a fire as their mother. There's no training a dragon like a horse. Daemon's bond with him is somehow both magical and biological for how easy and intrinsic it is, guiding him without shouted commands or whips.
And then there's Jaime Lannister, who's supposed to be scared shitless because he nearly got eaten by the Dread reborn.
Underneath the sweat and stale blood and salt, Daemon thinks his hair smells nice. That's something interesting, too. They'll fly until Caraxes has (literally) had his fill of stretching his wings, and then begin to wind down, following the line of the train tracks to the capital city.
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Deafening air rushes past them, the only sound audible over it the powerful beating of Caraxes' wings. Easy to see why Targaryens consider themselves above mortal men— easy to see why droves of people might worship a girl who drew three of these creatures from a fire as their mother. There's no training a dragon like a horse. Daemon's bond with him is somehow both magical and biological for how easy and intrinsic it is, guiding him without shouted commands or whips.
And then there's Jaime Lannister, who's supposed to be scared shitless because he nearly got eaten by the Dread reborn.
Underneath the sweat and stale blood and salt, Daemon thinks his hair smells nice. That's something interesting, too. They'll fly until Caraxes has (literally) had his fill of stretching his wings, and then begin to wind down, following the line of the train tracks to the capital city.