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The Broken Crown (1/2)

- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 200+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

- A/N: Unexpected post. Let's see how it goes.

The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.

It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.

You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.

But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.

The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.

"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.

"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."

"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."

You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."

Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.

"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"

His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.

"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."

"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."

You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."

Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.

"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."

"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."

He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.

"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."

You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.

"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.

You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.

The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.

The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.

Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.

"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."

"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"

Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"

"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"

Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.

Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.

Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."

You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.

"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."

Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.

As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.

The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.

Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.

Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.

Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.

"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."

Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."

Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."

Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"

Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."

Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"

Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.

"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."

Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"

Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.

Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.

"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."

But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.

And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.

The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.

You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.

The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.

Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.

You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.

You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.

But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.

Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.

The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.

You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.

But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.

Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.

You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.

But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?

Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.

For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.

For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.

At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.

Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.

The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.

But you only stare at it, unmoving.

"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."

The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.

One day, his words change.

Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.

“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."

You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.

"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."

You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."

He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."

"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"

"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."

"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?

“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”

You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.

You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.

Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.

You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.

With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.

Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”

But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.

Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Visenya.

You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.

“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.

But Visenya is not one to be outrun.

Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”

Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.

The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.

With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.

As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.

The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.

You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.

The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.

Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"

"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"

His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."

For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."

You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"

But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"

Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."

"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."

But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."

You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.

You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."

Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.

Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.

Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.

The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.

You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."

Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.

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imutrt · 2 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤷ More of a WhatIf! situation...Requests are open, thank you for reading!🌷⋆.˚

a/n: this is too cute, thank you to anon who requested it!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Balerion the Black Dread is the most feared dragon in history, a creature of shadow and fire, destruction and legend.

・And yet, to his rider, he is not just a beast of war; he is a protector, a guardian, and the closest thing to a living god.

・Balerion is shockingly gentle.

・His rider is a speck of dust compared to his size

・If the child is scared or nervous, he’ll release deep, rumbling noises to calm them.

・His presence is felt rather than seen, a vast shadow always looming just beyond the horizon.

・If his rider whispers secrets to him, he listens, unblinking, as if understanding far more than any human could.

・Big Bad Balerion lets his rider climb onto his back, even when he does not take to the skies, walking through the land like a silent, unstoppable force.

・His rider sees what no one else does/what no one else can; the lands beyond the horizon, people below as ants, as meaningless...their lives so far away. His rider sees the world through a dragon’s eyes.

・He allows no one but them to touch his face, closing his great eyes when their small hands trace the scars time has left upon him.

・Balerion knows the sound of his rider's voice among thousands; even in a crowded battlefield, even in a storm.

・He will wait forever for them if he must.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Titan & The Tiny One

The Shadow That Follows

The Living Fortress

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・The bond was created because the little one had too much bravery. When they first met her, everyone warned them to stay back; after all, Meraxes was one of the greatest dragons in the world.

・But when the child approached, small and fearless, Meraxes simply lowered her enormous head and sniffed at them curiously.

・Placing their tiny hands against her shimmering silver scales, Meraxes was not angry in the slightest. She relished in the moment. A touch that felt profound. So, from that moment on, that little fierce child belonged to her.

・The bond with Meraxes is unbreakable, an odd but beautiful connection between a mighty dragon and a child who sees her not as a beast, but as family.

・Always watching, always protective. Knows who is around her rider and what their connection is to them

・No words are needed. She understands her rider, and her rider understand her.

・Does not refrain from showing respect because her rider is younger.

・She checks on her rider constantly; sniffing, nudging, and even wrapping her tail around them when they sleep so they don’t wander off.

・When they're upset, Meraxes rests her giant head beside them, letting the child lean against her as her slow breathing calms them down. ・If her rider ever cries, she licks at their face or nudges them softly, her way of trying to fix what’s wrong.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

My Baby Now

Loyal to the End

The Fierce Guardian with a Soft Spot

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・Vhagar has seen many things; countless wars, her own rider's deaths, kings rise and fall, and the passage of time itself. She is a creature of war and legend, she is not easily impressed, nor does she bend to anyone’s will.

・At first, she ignores them completely, pretending she didn’t hear their commands.

・But when the child reaches out a small hand, fearless and steady, Vhagar huffs, the warm gust ruffling their hair as they press their palm against her ancient scales.

・Vhagar does not coddle, but she watches. Always.

・The old girl keeps her distance at times, but she is never truly far, her looming shadow a constant presence.

・If anyone so much as raises their voice at her rider, her growl alone is enough to silence them.

・There is communication between Vhagar and her rider. She does not need words; just a flick of her tail, a deep exhale, a narrowed eye says everything.

・Flying Above the Storms – She takes her rider so high that the world disappears, the sky stretching endless and free. The storm rages on below, but neither notice.

・She snorts in amusement when her rider dares to stand tall, to challenge her with their stubborn little spirit. Sometimes she humours them; most times she does not.

・Whenever her rider falls asleep against her, their tiny form barely noticeable against her massive body, yet she stays perfectly still for hours.

・Vhagar has seen it all, but her rider reminds her that there is still wonder in the world, still reasons to fly.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Ancient Guardian & The Tiny Warrior

Terror to the World, Gentle to One

The Old Warrior & The Young Dreamer

๋࣭⭑ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・Dreamfyre is curious and regal, her head tilting as she studies her tiny would-be rider.

・She does not simply accept anyone. And yet, when her rider reaches out with such quiet trust, Dreamfyre leans forward, allowing their hand to press against her cool, sky-colored scales.

・The second she breathes in their scent, the bond is sealed. Her rider is hers now, and always will be.

・"A baby!!!" She'd croon, ruffling her rider's hair with her breath.

・For many of these dragons, it is when they inhale a person's scent which makes them decide yes or no.

・Dreamfyre is deeply expressive—she chuffs softly when her rider is near, her way of saying "I see you. I know you."

・Very graceful in the air, always making sure her rider feels safe.

・She lets her rider play with her scales, allowing them to trace tiny patterns with their fingers.

・She nuzzles them softly when they wake up, a warm "good morning" before stretching her massive wings.

・She loves when her rider sings or hums, Dreamfyre joins in - tilting her head and releasing soft, accompanying rumbles.

・The blue dragon recognises her rider’s voice instantly, no matter where they are, and will always come when called.

・To the world, Dreamfyre is a legendary streak of blue across the sky. Yet, to her rider, she is theirs; their friend, their protector, family ... and a piece of the heavenss themselves.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Wings of Comfort, Fire of Fury

The Living Fairytale

A Love That Soars

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・"A.....CHILD?!"

・When his rider first approaches, he snorts, releasing a deep breath that stirs the air like a storm.

・But when the child steps forward without fear, he is impressed...as the young one reaches out with a steady hand, Vermithor lets out a low, rumbling growl. Testing to see what they do.

・With determination, the child looks old mountain in the eye. And as their hand touches Vermithor's snout, the bond snaps in place.

・Now the pair do staring contests all the time.

・It's Vermithor who loses mostly.

・Vermithor is colossal, his roars shake the ground, yet with his rider, he rumbles softly, lowering himself carefully so they can climb atop his back.

・He keeps a steady distance, watching from afar, yet the second his rider needs him, he is there in an instant.

・Vermithor does not (sometimes) start fights, but he will end them—and if anyone dares harm his rider, they will not survive his wrath.

・The Bronze Fury is BIG on naps and is more than happy to share them with his tiny human.

・He allows his rider to curl up on his wing, against his chest or even his neck. He will not move until his rider wakes.

・Sometimes he wraps the very tip of his tail around them, a subtle, instinctual way of keeping them close and protected.

・Though he is slow-moving and ancient, he does have a playful side.

・If his rider hugs him, he freezes at first, as if unsure what to do. Then, he very carefully leans into it, letting out a little tiny whine.

・His little rider tells him jokes they make up, and they make absolutely no sense but Vermithor gives a huff just so his rider thinks he's funny.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Ancient Titan & The Tiny Flame

A Bond of Trust, Not Submission

I Would Burn the World for You

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

・In her mind she's thinking, 'this is my baby, I'm gonna protect my baby no matter WHAT.'

・She’s the perfect dragon for a child because she loves company and comfort.

・The bonding happened so easily and without fuss. However, the rider did disappear from the family to go and bond with a dragon...

・When the young one reached out, there was no hesitation. Silverwing bent forward, allowing them to touch her.

・In the moment, she had let out a soft, deep hum. A sound of approval. She was riderless no more.

・Silverwing often nuzzles her rider’s hair, careful and slow, as if reassuring herself that they are safe. It also combines their scents. Letting everyone know that 1. Silverwing is bonded and 2. Her rider has the protection of a dragon.

・Very affectionate, lowering her head so her rider can press their forehead against hers.

・When her rider is sad or scared, she wraps her tail loosely around them, pulling them close like a mother comforting a hatchling.

・Honestly, if she could sing, she would. Like a little lullaby, but all she could make is a light hum.

・Loves to play! Whenever her rider feels energetic, she'll flap her wings just enough to create gusts of wind to make them laugh.

・If they’re nervous about flying, she nuzzles them gently, reassuring them before taking off.

・Unlike some dragons, Silverwing genuinely enjoys floating on a lake, allowing her rider to sit on her belly as she drifts peacefully.

・Silverwing is quiet but deeply attentive, her large eyes fixed on her rider as they chatter about their thoughts, dreams, or stories.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Moon & The Tide

Peaceful, But Deadly

The Guardian & The Dreamer

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Meleys is a proud dragon, but once she accepts someone as hers, she is devoted to them for life.

・Meleys is not easily impressed and does not accept riders without testing them first.

・If the child approaches with confidence, she does not move, however, if they show hesitation, she huffs and flicks her tail, testing their courage.

・When the young one touches Meleys' snout, and looks her in the eye; the dragon knows and the bond is formed.

・She huffs dramatically when they take too long to get ready for a flight, as if saying, "Hurry up, little one, we have places to be!"

・Meleys is strong-willed and does not take orders lightly, yet for her rider, she listens not out of submission, but out of deep affection.

・If her rider laughs, she lets out a high-pitched, chuffing sound, almost like a dragon’s version of a giggle.

・Meleys is dramatic in the most regal way possible—she will huff, flick her tail, or turn her head away if she feels ignored.

・She loves having her scales brushed, especially if her rider does it while talking to her.

・When she is flying at full speed, she lets out excited, high-pitched chirps, as if celebrating her own agility.

・If she sees another dragon being affectionate with their rider, she immediately nudges her own, as if to remind them who the best dragon is.

・Despite her fearsome reputation, Meleys has a surprising fondness for tiny creatures.

・If a small animal tries to hide under her wing, she freezes completely and allows it, looking down at her rider as if to say, "Well, what do I do now?"

・Meleys enjoys wandering and flying freely, but no matter how far she goes, she always comes back to her rider.

・

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Queen & Her Little Shadow

A Bond of Speed & Freedom

Fire & Beauty

๋࣭⭑ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Caraxes is not easily impressed, and at first, he snarls and flares his wings

・But instead of running away, his rider stands firm, reaching out with small but steady hands.

・He narrows his great golden eyes, lowers his head, and nudges them experimentally—just enough to see if they will flinch.

・When they don’t, he lets out a sharp, approving huff, allowing them to touch his deep red scales.

・He is loud but loving, intense yet deeply affectionate, and fiercely protective of the small human he has claimed as his own.

・He has fought countless battles, but this tiny human? He would burn the world down for them.

・And loves it when he can hear the little one yell, "FASTER FASTER FASTER!"

・If someone makes his rider cry, he reacts immediately, nostrils flaring as he lowers his head to glare at the offender.

・He loves rubbing the top of his snout against his rider’s hands, chest, or face, the dragon equivalent of a cat headbutting their favorite person.

・Birds love landing on his horns, and while he acts indifferent, he never shakes them off.

・Influences his rider to become more aggressive when they're being bullied

・Caraxes lets his rider climb onto his back in ridiculous (and stupid) ways, even if they struggle and take forever. He allows them to be ... a kid.

・He loves when they scratch his jaw or the base of his horns—he rumbles so deeply that it shakes the ground.

・If his rider ever gets lost, he lets out a high, piercing roar, calling for them until they return.

・Caraxes is extremely vocal—his rider quickly learns the difference between his huffs, growls, whines, and deep rumbles.

・He loves being spoken to—his rider can talk for hours, and he will tilt his head, blinking slowly, as if truly listening.

・He is grumpy if they don’t say good morning to him first.

・If they try to be sneaky and leave without him noticing, he immediately catches them, blocking their path with his tail.

・If they’re sitting on the ground, he rests his massive head beside them, staring with his sharp golden eyes as if expecting them to entertain him.

・A very, VERY jealous being. Caraxes does not like when his rider spends too much time with other dragons.

・If another dragon roars at his rider? Immediate retaliation. No one gets to intimidate his human.

・When his rider sighs in frustration, he mimics them with an exaggerated snort. When the rider notices and folds their arms, Caraxes pretends like he didn't do a thing.

・He hates waiting—if he is kept waiting too long, he lets out small puffs of flame, just enough to be dramatic.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Loud, Chaotic, and Full of Love

The Fierce Warrior & The Tiny Braveheart

The Overprotective Guardian

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・Syrax is highly selective of who she allows near her, yet when she first meets her rider, there is no hesitation.

・Syrax treats her rider like one of her own hatchlings, keeping them close, shielding them with her wings, and always making sure they are safe.

・This also means, they'll be able to grow up together. Since Syrax isn't very old herself.

・She is exceptionally careful around her rider, moving slowly, making sure her wings do not knock them over.

・Syrax rumbles softly whenever her rider touches her, it is a deep soothing sound that makes the ground vibrate and her rider giggle.

・She often presses her forehead against them, a sign of deep trust and affection.

・Syrax moves with grace and fluidity, twirling through the clouds in ways that make her rider laugh with joy.

・Loves when her rider runs up to her with open arms

・"We're going for a ride Syrax!" And the yellow dragon would let out a little noise in celebration

・Syrax loves spending time with her rider because she loves listening to court gossip

・And everytime she sees her rider there's a new present for her

・Sunbathing together! Syrax adores basking in the sun, and she always makes room for her rider to lie beside her on her massive wing.

・She is always listening for their voice; no matter where they are, she will hear them call her name.

・Unlike her more aggressive kin, Syrax worries about her rider. She checks on them constantly, making sure they are safe, fed, and warm.

・When waiting for food, she taps her claws rhythmically against the ground, the dragon equivalent of impatiently tapping fingers on a table.

・Syrax is not just a beast of war; she is a queen of the skies, a guardian, a mother at heart. And for her rider, she is all these things at once.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Golden Guardian

No One Touches the Little One

The Dragon Who Cares Too Much

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・Beautiful Seasmoke is graceful, swift, and playful, one of the most agile and intelligent dragons of his time.

・While he is skilled in war, he is also gentler than many of his kin, making him a perfect match for a young, adventurous rider.

・He is as mischievous as he is protective, nudging his rider toward fun but always watching carefully to keep them safe.

・Which brings me to the ultimate headcanon: Big Brother energy

・"Seasmoke, today I learnt more words in High Valyrian!"

"Hell yeah you did lil dude!" (Comes out as a roar, obviously)

・Huffs warm air over them in the morning, a gentle wake-up call that is more effective than any alarm clock.

・Seasmoke is naturally curious, and the first time he sees his rider, he doesn’t roar or threaten—he watches, head tilted in intrigue.

・Seasmoke is extremely touchy for a dragon, constantly nudging, headbutting, and wrapping his tail around his rider. Especially shows this when he's around people he doesn't like, when he's bored and wants to go for a fly etc.

・He loves flipping his wings suddenly while his rider walks nearby just to send a gust of wind their way and make them laugh.

・If his rider ever trips or falls, he immediately lowers his snout, nudging them gently as if saying, "Up, little one."

・Seasmoke chitters and warbles a lot, making soft sounds of excitement whenever he sees his rider (that's a lie, sometimes he screeches in happiness)

・He’s an expert at blending into fog, and sometimes, he plays a game where he vanishes into the mist, only to reappear behind his rider with a playful growl (this TERRIFIES onlookers)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Free Spirit & Their Loyal Dragon

The Playful Protector

Two Halves of One Soul

๋࣭⭑ 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Drogon is fierce, untamed, and utterly relentless. A creature born of fire and destruction, feared across the world.

・But to his rider, he is something different.

・His bond with them is absolute, forged in trust, protectiveness, and something almost possessive.

・'This I Will Defend' mentality.

・His protective instincts go into overdrive once the bond is in place

・Both are chaotic and want to set fire to everything. The rider has to be given a talk by their parents that they cannot do that.

・He is not just a guardian—he is a shadow over their shoulder, a fire in the dark, a force of nature that bends to no one but them.

・To the world, Drogon is death with wings, but for his rider, he lowers his massive head so they can pat his snout with tiny hands.

・He allows no one to touch or speak harshly to his rider without a deep, warning growl vibrating through his chest.

・This lets his rider get away with a lot of things aka saying the word 'no' can only be done if Drogon is not within ear-reach

・Drogon drops food at their feet, as if expecting them to eat like him. He doesn’t understand why humans insist on cooking things first.

・Drogon has no concept of personal space, and his rider is always warm whether they like it or not.

・Drogon loves to sprawl in the sun, wings half-open, scales shimmering in the light. It always makes his rider laugh, as he rolls around on his back like a big ol' pup

・If anyone tries to disturb nap time, Drogon lifts his wing slightly and growls just enough to scare them off.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Fire and Fury for the One I Love

The Monster and Their Tiny Human

You Are Mine, and I Am Yours

๋࣭⭑ 𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 ✶⋆.˚

・"Umm, what do I do with it?"

・Rhaegal is thinking his rider is a meek thing but as soon as they are face to face, Rhaegal is given orders.

・Quickly becomes proud of his rider, letting them take control and learn on their own.

・He only steps in when he thinks they need help (he knows they will never ask for help)

・Rhaegal is not a dragon who takes orders easily, but if his rider asks him to do something, he obeys without hesitation.

・If his little child rider ever wanders off, he follows at a distance, making sure they're safe without hovering too much. He guides them carefully, using his tail or wing to steer them away from danger.

・When his little rider is asleep against his side, Rhaegal wraps a wing around them, keeping them warm and protected.

・Rhaegal LOVES cool rivers and lakes, and sometimes he lets his rider splash him playfully while he watches with amusement.

・Rhaegal likes to 'hunt' gifts for his rider. So he'll bring them shiny rocks, feathers, or small bones, dropping them proudly at their feet.

・To him, the rider is his hatchling, his most precious treasure, and nothing in the world will ever harm them as long as he lives.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

The Only One He Listens To

The Quiet Guardian

A Bond That Needs No Words

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Oh my beloved Viserion.

・You just know that the bond would be so precious and delicate.

・He could crush his rider in an instant, yet he lowers his head so the little one can pat his snout or curl up against his warm scales.

・Vissy would definitely be upset that he couldn't sleep in his rider's room. And vice versa.

・The pale dragon loves when his rider gives him affection. Pets are good, Scratches are better.

・If he were small, he'd spend all day wrapped around his rider's neck. Sometimes he'd sleep, most of the time he'd be content just to be close to his little friend.

・When flying, Viserion is always conscientious of his rider. He doesn't want to hurt them in any way.

・If someone even raises their voice at the little rider? Viserion growls low, golden eyes locked onto the offender until they back away.

・He often circles around his rider, keeping his tail close like a barrier. No one gets near without his approval.

・The moment he senses they might be cold, he instinctively wraps his body around them, sharing his warmth like a living furnace.

・Although Viserion cannot pur, he does it in his dragon version; rumbling in a deep, soothing way

・If his rider is ever upset? He nudges them gently with his snout, blowing warm air over them in a silent gesture of comfort.

・The child rides him before anyone else does. No saddle, no commands; just pure trust.

・He’s extremely playful; flicking snow at his rider with his tail, letting them ‘chase’ him in a game of tag, always careful never to move too fast.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Gentle Giant x Tiny Companion

You’re My Hatchling Now

The Only One Who Understands Him

𝒈𝒊𝒇/𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

@drogonthered

@ariesfusion

@daenerys-stormborn

@onyxstorms

YokSArt on ig

Tuğce Karaburçak

irises.art on ig

eiobya on ig

@eiralune on X

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