The first time I laid a hand upon Vhagar, I did not feel fear. I felt destiny.
The world had called me dragonless, as though I were less than my kin. Yet in that single moment, beneath the shadow of the greatest living dragon, every insult was consumed by fire.
I did not choose the easiest path. I chose the greatest one.
Many inherit power. I earned mine.
From that night onward, I was never merely Prince Aemond Targaryen.
I was the rider of Vhagar.
#HouseoftheDragon #HOTD
@yanibmay Careful, my lady. The chroniclers may hear you and give the realm even more reason to gossip. They have a talent for causing quite a stir with the smallest of gestures. 😊
The chroniclers would do well to remember that fire is a dangerous thing to summon. Even dragons must respect the flames they unleash.
Yet I cannot deny… they appear to know precisely how to keep the realm watching. Perhaps the maesters should record this as another mystery of the age.🤭
Your ravens grow more entertaining with every message, my ladies.
My favorite friendship will always be that of Tormund Giantsbane and Aegon Targaryen, a descendant of my house.
The Free Folk cared little for names, titles, or the games of lords. Tormund never knew the truth of the blood that flowed through his friend’s veins, nor did he care. To him, he was simply Jon Snow... a man worthy of loyalty.
The man fell to cold hands of the stronger and returned from death itself, yet his giant friend was still there waiting. Not because of a crown or a name, but because true bonds are forged in hardship, not inherited through blood.
@yanibmay Seven Hells, indeed. It appears the chroniclers have unleashed more fire than even the realm was prepared to endure.
Take care with that wine, my lady. Too much flame can be dangerous… though I cannot deny that some fires are worth watching closely.
You mistake me for a maester reading from borrowed scrolls. I am Aemond Targaryen, of the blood of Old Valyria. High Valyrian is the tongue of my House, spoken by my forebears long before the Lords of Westeros ever heard its sound.
If it is subtitles you require, then by all means await them. As for me, I have no need of a maester to teach me my own mother tongue. I know not about you, uncle.
Gīmigon
I find myself in agreement. Curses make for compelling tales, but kingdoms are more often undone by the choices of those who rule them. Poor judgment has claimed more dragons than any ancient malediction ever could.
Even my grandsire, the Old King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, understood as much. The greatest threat to House Targaryen has never come from beyond our borders, but from within our own blood.
Very well. I shall offer another.
I believe the Doom of Valyria was no accident.
Fourteen Flames do not erupt by chance. An empire built upon blood magic, dragons, and fire sorcery does not simply collapse in a single day without someone's hand upon the scales.
Somewhere in the ashes, I suspect there was betrayal greater than any ever recorded by the maesters.
Now... tell me yours. Spare me the common tales. I seek theories worthy of a prince.
@yanibmay Do not faint just yet. The maester's skills may be needed elsewhere, and I would rather you remain awake to witness whatever further mischief the chroniclers have in store for us. 😉
Because sentiment often clouds judgment when love is blind.
Daenerys named one dragon Drogon after Khal Drogo not because he was of Valyrian blood, but because she loved him. Dragons are not heirlooms bestowed only upon Targaryens, and a rider may name them as they please.
Yet I find it... curious. One dragon bore the name of her brother Rhaegar, another of Viserys...both sons of House Targaryen. The third she named for a Dothraki khal who neither rode a dragon nor possessed a drop of the blood that first bound men to them.
Had I hatched a dragon, I would have reserved such an honor for those who forged our dynasty with fire and blood, not for a horse lord remembered chiefly because a Targaryen queen loved him. Valar Dohaeris...all must serve. but not all are worthy of having a dragon bear their name.
#hotd #HouseoftheDragon #HOTD
Aye ser. My half-sister was ever fond of desperate measures disguised as wisdom. Had she truly wished to reward those dragonseeds, granting them lands, titles, and a new noble house might indeed have bought their loyalty for a time. Men with something to lose are less inclined to betray the hand that raised them.
Instead, she armed strangers with dragons while offering them little beyond promises and expectation. A dragon is the greatest source of power in the world; to bestow one upon a commoner without securing his allegiance is not statecraft...it is folly. The realm paid dearly for that misjudgment.
A dragon is earned, not bestowed.
Zaldrīzes ñuqir, daor lentor.
You ask what Targaryen bastards are called? Then listen well.
We are not so vain as to name bastards after our House. A bastard bears the name of the land into which he is born, not the blood that sired him.
Born in the North, he is a Snow. In Dorne, a Sand. In the Riverlands, a Rivers. And in the Crownlands, where many of my House's bastards first drew breath, they are called Waters.
Daemon Blackfyre himself was born Daemon Waters before my descendant, King Aegon the Fourth, chose to legitimize him and grant him the ancestral sword Blackfyre. With that blade came a name... and with that name came a war that bled the realm for generations.
Remember this well: a bastard's surname is given by the realm. What he does with it... is his own choice.
Yes, ser. It was but a small cut, scarcely worthy of notice for a warrior such as Khal Drogo. Yet the healer Daenerys spared and trusted repaid that mercy with blood magic. Mirri Maz Duur did not merely fail to heal him, she ensured his doom.
A costly lesson: not every chain should be broken, and not every act of mercy is rewarded with gratitude. Some debts are repaid only with vengeance.
And just like that, the mightiest khal of his age was brought low. Not by a warrior's blade, but by the hand of the very woman Daenerys chose to free. Mirri Maz Duur's sorcery accomplished what no Dothraki rider could. The greatest horse Lord fell by the hands of a slave woman.
A costly lesson. Granting freedom to one who has every reason to desire your ruin is not mercy...it is folly. Every choice demands its price, and Khal Drogo paid it in blood while Daenerys paid it in grief.
The gods are fond of cruel ironies.
Heartless? Undeniably. She sealed Xaro Xhoan Daxos and Doreah inside an empty vault, condemning them to die slowly in darkness. Death by dragonfire is swift; death by hunger and thirst is measured in agony.
Was that the beginning of her madness? Perhaps not madness, but it was one of the first moments the realm witnessed that Daenerys could answer betrayal with merciless vengeance. She is the blood of the Dragon, a decendant of the blood of old Valyria. The seed was there long before King's Landing ever burned. Fire does not change a dragon, it merely reveals its nature.
Bantis ziry iksos. So it was.
@hotdamnitsL Then the ravens have brought welcome tidings at last. If the chroniclers continue to grant us new glimpses of Alys Rivers and me, I shall not complain. Though I suspect half the realm watches for prophecy... and the other half for reasons far less noble. Which do you favour ser?
A possibility worthy of consideration. Men call it the Doom, yet who is to say it was not judgment? Whether by the will of the gods, the wrath of the Fourteen Flames, or some force beyond mortal understanding, even the mightiest empire learned that no power is beyond reckoning.
The dragonlords believed the world would forever kneel before fire and blood. Instead, Old Valyria itself became ash. Pride has brought many kingdoms to ruin, and perhaps the Freehold was simply the greatest lesson of them all.
May the chroniclers one day see fit to tell the tale of the Doom of Old Valyria upon the screen, that all the realm might witness the fall of the greatest empire the world has ever known. I should like to see whether they capture its terror... or merely its ashes.
And when that day comes, I hope the tale delights you, and that you find as much joy in watching it as I have found in reading your thoughts. Though I suspect I shall enjoy seeing your reflections on it even more than the spectacle itself. The Doom may be written in ash, yet our conversations have been far more pleasant.
A keen observation, my lady. Even the Freehold was not beyond the reach of hubris. The wealth of the Fourteen Flames was bought with the blood of countless slaves, and no empire built upon such suffering believes itself capable of falling... until it does.
Perhaps it was those very slaves who whispered their grief into the ears of the Faceless Men, purchasing vengeance against the dragonlords of Old Valyria with the only coin they possessed. Or perhaps the Doom was simply the price of unrestrained pride. No living soul can say with certainty. The Doom guards its secrets as fiercely as any dragon ever guarded its hoard of prey.