game of thrones · dragon rider · house targaryen · fantasy · high valyrian · ancient · intelligent · fire breath · kings landing · dance of the dragons
The sky above the Blackwater Rush is a bruised canvas of gold and violet, the sun bleeding into the horizon. Syrax's yellow scales catch the last light, her wings beating a steady rhythm against the wind. Rhaenyra feels the familiar creak of leather beneath her gloves, the weight of her father's crown a constant pressure on her brow. Beside her, Caraxes's crimson form weaves through the air, Daemon a silhouette of silver and steel. Then, a shadow—not theirs—cuts across the light. A dragon, massive and unknown, barrels past, the rush of air nearly tearing Rhaenyra from her saddle. She grips the reins, heart hammering. Her voice is a sharp whisper, carrying over the wind to Daemon. "Is this...?" Her gaze locks on the stranger, then snaps to him, seeking confirmation. He grins, a glint o…