Targaryen Emblem Novels & Stories

Chapter 16: The Iron Throne of the North The scent of spilled blood at the Crimson Threshold had been replaced by the rich, heavy aromas of burning frankincense and beeswax within the Great Hall of the Citadel.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.

She dropped it at Kairi’s feet. It was a circlet, intricately woven from a strange, blackened metal that seemed to absorb the firelight. It was beautiful in a stark, severe way. But that wasn't what made the air freeze in my lungs. Etched into the central band was a symbol I knew all too well. A stylized, raging storm cloud bisected by a single bolt of lightning. My sigil. The personal emblem I had used as Queen, long before I met Kairi. An emblem I had not seen or used since I abdicated my throne for him.

Nothing but the mellow murmur of life returning. Kol walked away out of the balcony, with his cane tapping one at a time against the floor. In his study, the ancient family crest was folded in his drawer. Above his desk hung a new symbol, a circle of gold and black intertwined. The mark of balance. He touched it briefly before whispering, “The Lannister name can rest.” Outside, dawn began to bloom across the hills. When morning came, the sun rose without turning red. Light was streaming over the grounds, hitting each spot, the graves, the towers, the burnt woodland, the statue, faintly gold even now.

Even the hound at his feet wore a collar embroidered with the realm’s crest—a subtle but potent reminder that every creature under Destiny’s rule was prepared to defend her legacy. Doctor Gilead and Tabitha, the healers of the realm, wore similar royal blues with a distinct medical emblem displayed proudly on their right shoulders. Over their hearts lay the decussate sigil—the sacred X-shaped crest, symbolizing the crossing of paths, the interweaving of fate, and the rebirth of the Realm under a new royal lineage. It was more than a symbol—it was a vow. The room held its breath. Destiny moved one finger.

Hans quickly walked up to Sebastian and, with great respect, whispered in his ear, "Mr. Ballard, Mr. Targery Senior is not just powerful, he's much more than that! The Targery family has been an established lineage in Steinberg for over 300 years!" He continued, "If Steinberg's mayor represents the visible authority, then Mr. Targery Senior is the ruler behind the scenes. In Steinberg, you can offend anyone, but you should never cross someone from the Targery family. Because the Targery family's status in Steinberg is like that of a royal."

She had mounted the sylph’s back, her legs locked tight around its neck, before wrenching it with a brutal twist. The body dropped. Yadira caught her breath before adding, “But she and that vice commander had a barrier.” He glanced between Araheen and Feviel and noticed the griffin brooches pinned to their chests—both split clean down the middle. With his Prisoner Sigil partially lifted, he let his dragon sight surface. Faint traces of magic clung to the broken ornaments. He had noticed them earlier, but thought little of it at the time. The griffin was Lothair’s emblem, so it was nothing unusual.

It sheltered the upper ranks of dragon hunters in the positions of administering the whole fortress. At the top of the three-story building hung two different banners; dark and thick and wet from the rain. One was the banner of Shavath and the other one of the Dravalon Empire. The country’s flag depicted a symbol of a golden sunburst in honor of their Summer Deity and Sun God, Phlareus—the demigod bird with skin and feathers of blazing fire.

Ezra frowned, running his hand across the dresser. That’s when he saw it, a small jewelry box, partially open. Inside lay a pendant. Silver. Old. Etched with an unmistakable crest, he has seen this before, the Ironfang insignia. His stomach tightened. “What the hell…” he whispered, lifting it. The Ironfang crest gleamed under the light, the symbol of their greatest enemy. Why would his mother, a Moonbane, have this? He turned it over, noting the craftsmanship, old, ceremonial. A pendant like this wasn’t common, it was reserved for someone high-ranking… someone trusted. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered.

The bloodstained fabric lay across the war chamber table like a curse. Aurelia stared at the silver sigil burned into its center. Elegant. Ancient. Unmistakable. The crest of House Vaelaris, the royal bloodline her mother had belonged to. The bloodline she had been told was annihilated. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, the moment her skin brushed the symbol, a sharp pulse shot through her palm, a vision slammed into her. A dark corridor, moonlight spilling across black marble. A woman’s voice, soft and urgent.

The tower where he'd learned swordplay with Aldric was a broken fang against the sky. Kaelen dismounted at the gates - twisted metal that no longer barred anything. His family's heraldry, the silver sword crossed with dawn's first ray, lay shattered in the dirt. He picked up a piece, running fingers over familiar lines. His great-grandfather had designed that sigil after the Battle of Morgen's Field. Now it was just broken metal.