Maester of Castle Black, who never knew about a secret nephew. It makes something curdle unpleasantly in Daemon, and he thinks of the Baratheons, putrid fools who've forgotten their own heritage, content to consume Targaryen blood and do nothing with it but live in Westerosi squalor. What has happened, in between his lifetime and Jon's?
It doesn't matter. He knew it was over when Viserys wed a Hightower.
"You are one of the last survivors of an apocalypse," Daemon says after a while. "It's worth being proud of. But there's no comfort to be found."
Sinful foreigners who command demons. They were never going to thrive in Westeros, nor anywhere else; the Essosi tradition of being proud of their Valyrian Freehold roots would have decayed had House Targaryen settled there instead of on the island. They cannot settle. They are not meant for the world any longer.
"Do you ride, or merely let him go like a kite? We should take them out, get them used to each other."
Caraxes stirs more obviously now, and deep red glints from between trees. He doesn't want to scare Rhaegal and inspire a bad reaction, but he's curious.
no subject
It doesn't matter. He knew it was over when Viserys wed a Hightower.
"You are one of the last survivors of an apocalypse," Daemon says after a while. "It's worth being proud of. But there's no comfort to be found."
Sinful foreigners who command demons. They were never going to thrive in Westeros, nor anywhere else; the Essosi tradition of being proud of their Valyrian Freehold roots would have decayed had House Targaryen settled there instead of on the island. They cannot settle. They are not meant for the world any longer.
"Do you ride, or merely let him go like a kite? We should take them out, get them used to each other."
Caraxes stirs more obviously now, and deep red glints from between trees. He doesn't want to scare Rhaegal and inspire a bad reaction, but he's curious.