“Dragons,” Aemon whispered. “The grief and glory of my House, they were.”
“The last dragon died before you were born,” said Sam. “How could you remember them?”
“I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. My brothers dreamed of dragons too, and the dreams killed them, every one. Sam, we tremble on the cusp of half-remembered prophecies, of wonders and terrors that no man now living could hope to comprehend… or…”
“Or?” said Sam.
“…or not.” Aemon chuckled softly. “Or I am an old man, feverish and dying.”
The Sisterhood of the Dragon : a tale of lady knights and dragons
When a kingdom is born on the outskirts of the dragons’ domain, the king and his advisors began the ritual of sacrifice to appease the winged creatures. At the beginning and end of each year a girl would be sacrificed to the dragons.
But the dragons were horrified by such a brutal and barbaric offering; so they took the girls and brought them to their nesting grounds, giving the abandoned young women new homes and purpose - to guard the dragons’ eggs. So the Sisterhood of the Dragon was born; those betrayed by their kingdom were welcomed with open arms and wings - trained to fight and protect, some to heal and some to sew and some to cook and some to nurture and some to hunt, each woman finding purpose and her own calling.
(Source: girlsarewolves, via serjaimes-deactivated20140209)