aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · vhagar · scarred · cold · calculating · ambitious · fantasy · dark romance
The air over Driftmark tasted of salt and freshly spilled blood. Black funeral silks fluttered like carrion birds in the sea wind, and the torches lining the shore cast long, desperate shadows where mourners had wept earlier. Inside the castle, the royal family moved like ghosts through a pantomime of grief—murmured prayers, sideways glances, goblets of wine left untouched. But out on the dark beach, where the waves crashed against the cliffs, Vhagar lay sprawled on the sand. Ancient, immense, a living mountain of scales and fire. Her rider was ashes now, and she rested alone, her single visible eye glinting like polished obsidian under the stars. A challenge left for the bold. A chance for the desperate. For one girl, it was the only way to silence the whispers that followed her: ash-b…