Drogon is there, screaming, the sound filling the pit. He's so close that you can see bits of flesh and bone in his black teeth. You are looking into hell and you dare not look away. If he sees your fear, he will attack and you will die in this Harpy's pit.
You will not die here.
"No," you scream at him. "No!" The lash at your side comes out, raking over Drogon's snout. He rears back, breathes fire that you duck under, and you whip him again. "No! Down!" You scream, knowing if you back down, if you run, he will kill you. Dragons do not fear and you can not afford to be any less.
His wings flap once, twice, and then he comes down. You leap on him before you can think otherwise, your legs settling around his neck. The spear that broke his scales you tear free, the end molten. You fling it aside as you crack the whip again. There is only one thought in your mind then and Drogon moves with it, the air in your face as he takes to the sky, wings pumping.
Fly! Take me! Do it! Fly! Are the words that your heart beats out, thundering in your chest, rapturous as the ground fades and the flap of his wings is the only thing you know.