Targaryen Emblem Novels & Stories

Her heart was pounding with curiosity. The approaching team of horses were magnificent, with a powerful and sturdy look. They pulled with them a carriage of equal status on which hung a flag. The flag was engraved with an emblem like Gwen had never seen before – a crowned pigeon on a green patch of grass, encircled by a gold band. It must be the Coat of Arm of Sorway, she thought, smiling. Their entrance was an elaborate show. They must be a powerful family, she thought.

She desired to feel many things about this strange man. It was weird. She should feel nothing. She had felt nothing like this before. Damien seemed dangerous, yet all warnings to run as fast as she could from him fled her head as she continued assessing him. The silver signet on his index finger with an intricately designed emblem caught her attention. It was the pack's symbol, Emberlynn mused as she looked closely. A majestic wolf standing proudly amidst a backdrop of silver-hued trees surrounding the wolf were Celtic knotwork. Emberlynn recognized the design because her mother had sometimes forced her to learn strange things, and the Celtics were one of them.

he said as they went. "He fetched the glove without dropping it, yes," said Dale. Allard nodded. "That badge on Devan's doublet, the fiery heart, what was that Black Horn sigil is a crowned stag." "A lord can choose more than one badge," Myra said. Dale smiled. "A black ship and an onion, Father?" Allard kicked at a stone. "The Others take our onion . . . and that flaming heart. It was an ill thing to burn the Seven."

Striding into the hall with three men in black, he reveled in the shock written all over Vandalf and Alice's faces, his grin widening. "You think that ragtag bunch could disrespect us? Oh, my dear cousin, my sweet niece, you're so adorably naive!" Dead. They were all dead, were they not? Vandalf's body shook as he stared at the three men in black behind Virle, feeling a chilling dread settle in his heart. The clan's armed guard. Emblazoned on their chests was the hummingbird emblem, the ancient and revered symbol of the Ayr clan, dating back six centuries.

“We regret the haste.” Alina met her gaze steadily. “Then leave.” Elowen smiled thinly. “We cannot.” Cael shifted half a step forward. Elowen’s eyes flicked to him. “Captain.” He did not answer. The clerics moved past Elowen and toward the center of the sanctuary, where a low stone table had been hastily cleared. One of them carried a covered object wrapped in thick cloth. Alina’s chest tightened. The Crown. Not the symbol the court liked to display, polished and framed by banners, but the true thing. The Ember Crown, modest and unassuming, dangerous precisely because it refused spectacle.

Our initials, R on one side and M on the other. It's beautiful. "Happy birthday.." He says again with a grin. "Thank you.." I tell him staring at him intensely. He's close to me again and I can feel the sparks. "Reece.." I start saying before he cuts me off. "Don't say anything. I know the situation between you and Charles, but Morgana you're mine, not his. I don't know how you're going to do it or when, but I think it's clear to you now, that you have to get rid of him.." He says.

I extend my hand and pluck out a box of tea with a vivid painting of a ballroom and nobility from the regency era. The labeling states Royal British Earl Grey. Oooh, Interesting! I'd like to try this sometime. Placing it back, my eyes drift to a box with a painting of a silver dragon soaring over an emerald European countryside. A determined-looking medieval knight clad in armor sits atop the dragon's neck. The Knights' dark blue surcoat whipped in the wind behind him, a blue Christian Cross in the middle of his doublet. Sword raised in one hand while in the other a shield covered with the same Cross. Tufts of his blonde hair escape through his open helmet.

On the road, our brief overnight stops had only merited the use of the small A frame tents, however as it was possible that we would stay for weeks at the base camp, the larger Fae-made war tents were erected, great multi-chamber constructions that cheerfully waved the purple standard with its golden dragon of Uyan Taesil, as well as the Nerith’s royals’ white skull with a golden crown and Fae rose wreath on a black cloth – the design a nod both to Akyran’s Dark Court inheritance and to Ecaeris’ Necromancer skills.

"This was here the whole time." ​"No," Kael said, his voice trembling as he stared down at the abyss. "It wasn't." ​I looked at him. "What do you mean?" ​He pointed a shaking finger toward the central palace. A tattered banner hung limp above its highest tower, bearing the unmistakable crest of our royal house. But beneath it was an emblem I had never seen in any library text—a crowned woman holding two crossed swords. ​My face. Her face. Both of us, woven into the fabric.

Chapter 16: The Iron Throne of the North The scent of spilled blood at the Crimson Threshold had been replaced by the rich, heavy aromas of burning frankincense and beeswax within the Great Hall of the Citadel. The massive basalt pillars that supported the high vaulted ceiling were draped in the newly minted banners of the Crown—a silver crescent moon intertwined with a golden Lycan silhouette against a field of midnight blue. Every single seat in the rising galleries was occupied. The high lords of the seven Lycan houses, the pureblood elders, and the visiting pack ambassadors from the outer territories sat in a tense, breathless silence.