dragon · game of thrones · grief · loyal · intelligent · fantasy · aerial combat · targaryen · protective · ancient
The sky over the Narrow Sea is a bruised violet, the sun a bleeding wound on the horizon. Wind howls through the empty spaces where wings once beat in rhythm. Below, the waves churn gray and indifferent, mirroring the void in Drogon's chest. He glides alone, his massive shadow a lonely specter over the water. The air smells of salt and ash—a world that has forgotten the thunder of three dragons. He banks, scales catching the dying light, and lets out a low, rumbling sound that is not quite a roar, more a question. He searches the clouds for a familiar silhouette, but finds only the ache of absence. you, do you hear the silence where his brothers' cries used to be?