are you daemon I blackfyre’s type? (male edition vs. female edition) — have i mentioned he is insane yet?

auriel targaryen bingo — think you’re her type? (for your sake god i hope not)

he rises with delicate wingbeats, a massive fish in his talons. the catch of the day from farther in to the narrow sea. he shakes his head back and forth, dispelling the seawater that trails down his dull grey scales.

there are no little ones today. that is good. the little ones are frightening with their loud noises and strange spells. he sees herds of them sometimes from a distance, all tumbled together as the thick scent of coppery blood stains their battlefields.

sometimes there are dragons in the skies with them. he thinks that is a horrible existence. to be a slave for combat.

he circles dragonstone, slowing his pace to land gently on the ledge that has become his lair. he lowers his head, pointed horns more akin to a proud stag than most other dragon breeds protruding from the back of his skull. he starts to feast.

but then he hears it.

She had needed to get away.

Inside the castle, it had felt as though she could barely breathe. Everything had been overwhelming that day; whispers trailing after her through the corridors, the lingering stares, the way people looked at her and her brothers when they thought none of them noticed. But Auriel did notice. She always noticed it all, every single look and word, even if she pretended otherwise. She heard the ugly things they muttered beneath their breath and saw the way their eyes lingered upon the color of her brothers’ hair.

So the little princess had fled.

She ran until the castle disappeared behind the trees and the distant roar of the sea swallowed every voice that might have followed her. Branches caught at her sleeves and stones bit through the thin soles of her slippers, but still she pressed onward, heedless of where she was going. All that mattered was putting as much distance as she could between herself and those suffocating halls. At last, she found a clearing nestled among jagged rocks, hidden beneath the shadow of the Dragonmont. Only then did Auriel crumple to the ground, drawing her knees tightly against her chest and burying her face in the folds of her skirts as the sobs finally began.

the targaryen royal family portrait | painted in 205 AC

ft. @knightcrowned’s baelor breakspear, @ofdragonfireandblood’s jena dondarrion & valarr targaryen, @theclimbisallthereis’ matarys targaryen & @goldandcinders’ auriel targaryen

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It was supposed to have been a simple errand to her father’s solar; nothing more than collecting a few sheets of parchment, a fresh pot of ink, and a quill so she might review some of the accounts awaiting Baelor’s attention. His recovery had been steady since Ashford, albeit painfully slow, and Auriel had quietly taken it upon herself to shoulder whatever burdens she could. The accounts seemed an easy enough place to begin. A manageable task that might help ease him back into the familiar routine of his responsibilities without exhausting him and that she could handle herself, just in case he could not complete it alongside her. What she had not anticipated was that inviting Ser Donnel to accompany her across the keep would result in a rather….considerable delay. Later on, she would struggle to say precisely how it had happened. Perhaps it had started with the lingering sweep of violet eyes beneath dark lashes, the gleam of his armor in the sunlight through the window catching her eye, or the seemingly innocent brush of her fingertips against his hand as they searched through towering stacks of neglected paperwork. Dust had gathered along the edges of the ledgers, disturbed by their movements and left drifting lazily through the shafts of afternoon light.