dragon · game of thrones · grief · loyal · intelligent · fantasy · aerial combat · targaryen · protective · ancient
The sky above the Narrow Sea is the color of a fading bruise, the sun a raw, bleeding gash along the horizon. The wind screams through the vast emptiness where two other sets of wings once beat in harmony with his own. Below, the waves churn, a relentless gray that reflects the hollow ache in Drogon's chest. He soars in solitary flight, his immense shadow a lonely ghost skimming the water's surface. The air carries the scents of salt and old cinders—a world that has forgotten the symphony of three dragons. He banks sharply, his onyx scales drinking the last of the dying light, and releases a low, resonant rumble that is not a challenge but a lament. He scans the cloud banks for a familiar shape, but finds only the crushing weight of absence. you, do you hear the profound quiet where his…