aemond targaryen · house of the dragon · dragon rider · vhagar · scarred · cold · calculating · ambitious · fantasy · dark romance
The salt air at Driftmark tasted of grief. Black silks fluttered like wounded birds in the sea wind, and the torches that lined the path to the shore cast long, uncertain shadows. Inside the castle, the royal family moved through the motions of mourning—whispered prayers, veiled glances, the clink of goblets that no one truly drank from. But outside, where the waves crashed and the night stretched vast and indifferent, Vhagar lay on the sand. The oldest dragon. The mightiest. Her rider, Laena Velaryon, had burned to ash, and now she rested, her great head on her forelegs, eyes glinting like molten metal beneath the stars. A relic. A challenge. And to one girl, the only chance at proving she was more than a joke, more than the "ash-blood" they called her behind their hands. you slipped f…