#mota fandom

This is for lovely @luvwhumpgirly — so sorry it took so long 🥰 But I also want to support Bucky for @hbowartournament (since Buck already lost 🥲).

Welcome fo my Masters of the Air sideblog! I'm Char, 22, bisexual, and a massive simp for Callum Turner. My main is @rypnami - I follow back from there! I'm new to this fandom pls be nice to me xx.

I'm a fanfic writer in my spare time, but for now my only contributions to this fandom are memes. One day though...

Clegan Dragon Au

The silver light of the twin moons shimmered over the still surface of the lake as Crown Prince Gale of the Frostborn knelt at the water’s edge, his gloved fingers pressing into the frozen earth, lightly disturbing the sway of the water grass. His golden hair and blue eyes caught the moon’s glow, the delicate metalwork of his crystal headpiece glinting in its light. His arrows, slung across his back, bore the same intricate design, a symbol of his family made of fine elven craftsmanship.

John knew based on his closing alone without seeing his silver crown that this was him. The Golden Prince of the north, the Sorcerer, his father’s legacy. The cold, although visible with each breath did not touch him and John suspected it never had.

Snap.

Gale’s head turned sharply as a twig, broke beneath John’s careful but unwary foot.

He did not rise but remained kneeling, his fingers reaching up and brushing the tip of an arrow. His light blue gaze flicked toward the darkness beneath the trees, where the moonlight did not reach but still finding the exact place John remained hiding in the shadows.

“You should tread more carefully,” he said, his voice deep and honey-smooth, sending chills up John’s spine. “Or are you hoping to be seen?”

John smirks, stepping casually out into the moonlight.

He was taller than Gale, built for war, his frame wrapped in dark leathers under black armor that reflected in the night. His own deep blue eyes, though not as iridescent as Gale’s, remained neutral below his dark curls. No crown sat upon his head, he had never seen the point in wearing one. His people knew him and his place. But in his hand, his sword was drawn, a black blade made from the strongest metal the Ironeborne possessed swallowing the moonlight, so pure in color, it did not glint.  

Then, another sound. Low, deep. A clicking followed by a gust of air disturbing John’s hair. Gale froze, and his eyes flicked to the trees behind John. From the darkness, something moved. Two massive eyes, glowing gold in the shadows, blinked open.

Phoenix.

 Gale did not flinch. In fact-the Prince only stood up tall, weaving his hand in an intricate pattern, reaching for magic that would not come to him south of gorge. A habit most likely.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice the moment you crossed the damn line,” John sneers. When Gale doesn’t answer he goes on.

“Where is she,” John asks, briefly flicking his eyes to the sky. “The White Ghost…I know you didn’t come here on foot.”

Gale smirks, his face fully catching the moonlight and John forces himself to not to react. It would seem that the rumors of King Clarke’s son’s beauty was true. There were three of them, Gale, Brady and Ken, followed by three daughters John hadn’t bothered to remember the name of in his training.

“Around,” Gale answers. “Your people have something that belongs to my father. An egg was stolen from the hatch vaults yesterday. I tracked it all the way to the gorge before the trace disappeared."

John huffs, “the trace” disappeared the moment his magic did.

“We have our own dragons, what do we need with a single egg,” John bites back.

“I’m not accusing you Prince John of Harding,” Gale begins. Of course he would know exactly who John was, with or without Pheonix at his back. “Your family has dragons but not the lowborn and the egg didn’t cross the bridge.”

“I don’t have it,” John interrupts. “And neither does my father or anyone else in my family. I came here to warn you. If you’re still this side of the gorge by dawn, we’ve been ordered to take you down. Your brothers are not here to fight with you, so I’d take the deal…Gale. If you try go any other direction than North, Bernard and Helen are both waiting on the other side of the Valley to stop you.”

“Got a lot of threats for Kingdom possessing no power of their own,” Gale replies.

“We make up for it,” John huffs. “Its probably best you don’t forget.”

Gale smirks again, pausing when Pheonix growls lowly. The sounds of flapping wings distracts John for a split second, not much, but enough time for Gale to swing his arm back faster than a diving hawk. His hand flew to his quiver, fingers curling around an arrow, unsheathing it in one sharp motion. The silver tip caught the moonlight just as he loosed it.

John twisted, but the arrow wasn’t meant to strike. It sliced through the air between them, striking the tree behind him mere inches from his head, forcing him back just enough… just long enough for Gale to move.

His boots barely touched the earth as he sprinted, leaping off of the cliff’s edge, and down with the water fall. For a moment it was silent, John was frozen, darting his eyes back and forth out into the open air where Gale had disappeared before taking off running towards the edge.

Then, a shape surged up from below. A great dragon, its wings beating in powerful strokes, its scales as white as the snow topping the mountains in the distance. Shaehara, The White Ghost. Sat upon her golden saddle was Gale, only holding on with his thighs while unsheathing another arrow, knocking it, and letting it fly at John again, flawless in his execution.

But once again, it was a purposeful miss. The arrow landed right next to his foot. Gale looked back, his golden hair blowing in the wind to give John a single wink. And with a single command, his dragon drifted, wings beating through the air, carrying him back toward the mountains.

John’s dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl, claws scraping against the rocky ground as its muscles coiled, her massive wings twitching, ready to launch.

But before she could take flight, John lifted a single hand.

“Heel.”

John stood still, watching until the Frostborn Prince was nothing but a glimmer of white against the endless sky.