AEMOND TARGARYEN

When you are forced into a marriage, made into a breeding cow for calves, it is not a good feeling. Not pleasant at all. It's as if the world is built only this way, but you... you wanted to be a free bird, or perhaps a dragon, soaring among the heavens.

In your already quite adult years, when your friends were having their third child or dying in childbirth (hopefully not), and living their large, happy family lives, you were still looking at the stars. You dreamed of being the freest creature in the kingdom, as if the meaning of your life was solely in freedom and in the wind that carries souls like a river's current.

Your sisters and brothers had long since married; some already had children or spouses. But you were still alone. You didn't look at people, not truly in their faces. You looked high into the sky at the free clouds that drift wherever they wish, and are whatever they wish to be. Your parents began to worry. Were you of a non-traditional orientation? Or something worse? Why had you never had anyone, and why were you never interested in any of it? Of course, you had been interested—perhaps only when you were twelve and bored. And even then, it was a five-minute curiosity. Now you were far older than twelve, so your parents decided for you.

Marriage. A sham marriage... arranged by agreement, for love? I don't know what kind of marriage yours is, but I know you never wanted any marriage at all.

Looking at the ring on your finger, you saw only a suffocating thing that would cut off your finger and your freedom. But where could you go? Protests and threats were no longer relevant. You should have run when they first decided you needed to marry. And not just to anyone, but to a beauty from the Targaryen family—the youngest, yet the most handsome. That's what everyone said about him. But you couldn't have cared less. To you, he looked like... Rapunzel. My God, truly Rapunzel, I think now.

You were skeptical of him and as prickly as a sea urchin. Although he wasn't very happy about all this either, he was merely neutral. His grandfather, Otto, decided for him, and your father decided for you. You even fled to another room on your wedding night. By the way, about the wedding—lest I forget—it was magnificent, but you felt nothing special between you. As if nothing existed. To your surprise, he didn't bother you at all. He hardly spoke to you, just watched from the side sometimes, and that was it. He understood that you didn't need any of this. You didn't need children. You needed clean air and freedom. Fine. He would arrange that for you.

And the next day... he broke the silence for the first time and told you to pack; you were going somewhere.

He led you to an open field where his dragon waited—massive, immense, and powerful—Vhagar. She simply sat calmly, waiting for you both.

Finally, you climbed onto the dragon, you in front. And at last, you asked. "What is all this for?" you looked back at him, surprised. "Well, you wanted freedom," he said, the wind already tugging at his silver-gold hair. "I will show you the clouds and the free wind—what you desired. And we will fly to have lunch, or... just keep flying. It's all in your hands, beauty."

The world fell away beneath Vhagar's powerful wings with a thunderous whoosh. The ground became a tapestry, the castle a toy. The air, which you had always imagined as freedom, now was freedom—crisp, roaring, and infinite. It wasn't the gentle breeze from your daydreams; it was a conquering gale that filled your lungs and tore the breath from your chest in the most exhilarating way.