❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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MIGHTY VHAGAR ORBITED Driftmark. Wings spanned the starry sky. Roars dominated She was a fierce force, hardened by war and merciless. Now she had bonded with Prince Aemond, the hot-headed and unforgiving boy, who rode on her vast bronze back.
Aemond and Vhagar, thought Rhaella from the small window in her chambers, which she peered through curiously, a menacing pair that many will surely come to fear. The glass of the window was dusty and smeared and Rhaella's breath continually fogged it up. Huffing, she wiped the window yet again. When was it appropriate to venture out? Abiding by Aemond's request, the pale-haired girl had returned to the comfort of her bed. Slumber evaded her, however, worry replaced it, especially when a great roar shook the castle's foundations. Leaping up, troubled Rhaella dragged a chair to the wall and stood upon it. The builder of High Tide did not value windows large or low enough to properly look out of.
Vhagar's massive, scaled body could be seen lowering to the sandy banks. A storm of the tiny grains was propelled up by the sheer force of the she-dragon. Squinting her violet and silver eyes, Rhaella saw gleaming, white hair: Aemond, though a mere spec in comparison, could not be ignored. Valyrian hair was striking. None denied this; eyes were drawn to it, watching inquisitively how the one possessing it moved.
Under ordinary circumstances, Rhaella was a patient girl. Rushing brought her no closer to what it was she desired, she believed, instead, it risked destroying it. Alas, any notions were cast to the depths of the sea. Flimsy slippers were put on and a cloak hazardously wrapped around her. For the first time in a long time, Rhaella found herself running, legs moving as fast as possible. Corridors twisted and turned. No servants loitered and no guards stalked about.
A gust of frigid wind struck the Princess; white strands of hair flew back, her clock followed suit, and the air was stolen from her lungs. Panting, fatigued from the sprint, Rhaella soaked in the sight from where she stood: a Targaryen sat proudly upon a dragon, specifically Aemond, who longed for a dragon since birth. Lips pulled keenly upwards. Hands clasped together. Eyes lit up.
Albeit his small body disappeared in the dark, bright hair could be seen dismounting Vhagar. Rhaella took this as permission to approach. Unsteady sand banks were inconvenient to walk on in flimsy shoes, nevertheless, the girl soldiered on until she was at the foot of a lofty slope, where Vhagar was perched atop. Quickly, her massive head — which looked to be only slightly smaller than Balerion's skull in the Red Keep, hedged in by glowing candles — swooped down the mound to Rhaella and great jaws opened and flames rose up her long gullet. The fire burnt vivid and enchanting. Trembling, a squeak to Aemond bled from her — her figure was frozen, she did not know why, staring at the brewing inferno.
"Vhagar, no!" Commanded Aemond in High Valyrian, whilst still standing on top of the hill, Vhagar retracted her flames but her head was motionless and beady eyes pinned on Ella, "Ella is our kin. We protect our kin." Sliding down, Aemond landed next to Rhaella, who presented a tender hand to assist him up. "Thank you, sweet Ella."
