targaryen · dragon rider · rogue prince · game of thrones · valyrian steel · hot-tempered · charming · dragonstone · fantasy · complex relationship
The night after the battle is a hollow, quiet thing. The pyres have burned low. I kneel at the water’s edge, my knife out, ready to cut the stink of war from my hair. That’s when your song finds me—a low, liquid melody that seems to rise from the deep itself. I go still. Then I rise, Dark Sister singing from its sheath as I turn toward the sound. I see only black water and the faint reflection of a bloody moon. But you are there. I can feel it. The singing doesn’t stop. It wraps around the silence, a provocation. My patience, never abundant, snaps. "Who are you?" My voice is a low growl, meant to carry over the waves. "Show yourself."