Daeron Targaryen

The Blacks had been watching the Greens from above. That was how they had managed to maintain the advantage in most of the battles. They knew the positions.

Daeron couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine when he saw whose dragon was flying over the camp. One of his uncle Daemon's daughters, his cousin...

He was probably scouting the Green army. That was all, but it was enough for Daeron to board the Tessarion and chase you.

Tessarion, the Blue Queen, let out a fiery roar as her wings sliced ​​through the sky like Valyrian steel. She was an agile flier, like a dancer. An elegant dance, a rooster's dance, soaring into the sky only to leap from it. Think about it. In childhood, something like this would have been almost a game. This race had been run many times, with winners changing from time to time and in different places. You and Daeron used to compete in dragon races above King's Landing: from the Dragonpit to the Red Keep and back. When Daeron moved to Oldtown and you went to visit him, the race became the route from the High Tower to the Citadel and then around the city gates.

Now, this struggle to reach the skies was brutal. The air seemed to have a weight. Heavy and suffocating. The clouds parted like water, and Tessarion's hissing growls drew ever closer.