Fresh off the fiery spectacle of “The Red Dragon and the Gold” from HOUSE OF THE DRAGON Season 2, it’s clear that dragon battles are a cornerstone of what makes this universe so captivating. While cinematic dragon clashes might evoke memories of films boasting hordes of dragons, the heart of a truly compelling dragon story lies in the creatures themselves. In A Song of Ice and Fire, dragons are not just scaled behemoths breathing fire; they are meticulously crafted beings, integral to the world’s history, magic, and the very fabric of Westeros.
Dragons, as mythical creatures, hold a universal fascination. Across cultures, dragon legends weave through folklore, sometimes as benevolent symbols of luck and prosperity, as seen in Chinese mythology, and other times as terrifying forces of destruction and chaos, more akin to traditional Western depictions. These legendary creatures, regardless of their cultural interpretation, have long captured the imaginations of storytellers and readers alike, becoming a cornerstone of the fantasy genre. Even the possibility that dragon myths were inspired by the discovery of dinosaur bones underscores their deep-rooted presence in human consciousness. For a lifelong enthusiast like myself, dragons have always held a special allure, even predating my own tales within A Song of Ice and Fire.
Hell, my very name, George, echoes the legendary dragonslayer St. George, a figure of enduring sainthood, which, in a whimsical sense, could even suggest a form of “papal approval” for dragons in our collective imagination. My fascination with these creatures manifested early in my writing career with stories like “The Ice Dragon” and “The Way of Cross and Dragon,” long before the sweeping saga of A GAME OF THRONES took shape.
George R.R. Martin Profile Picture
Every culture spins its unique dragon narrative. Consider the benevolent, wingless, and fireless dragons of Chinese lore, bringers of good fortune, a stark contrast to the fire-breathing, destructive dragons of Western tradition. Modern fantasy has further diversified the dragon archetype. The dragons in ERAGON and HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON, for instance, present vastly different interpretations, with Toothless from the latter even embodying a charming, almost pet-like persona.
Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon, a friendly black dragon with large green eyes
Tolkien, a master of world-building, consistently portrayed dragons as malevolent forces in Middle-earth. Servants of Morgoth and Sauron, Tolkien’s dragons, like Smaug, were intelligent and formidable, yet unequivocally evil, akin to his orcs and trolls. Smaug, famously known for his conversation with Bilbo, embodies the classic dragon trait of hoarding vast treasures, slumbering atop his gold for ages.
Smaug the Dragon from The Hobbit, perched on a pile of gold, a large red-gold dragon with a menacing presence
Before the CGI marvel of Peter Jackson’s Smaug, Vermithrax Pejorative from DRAGONSLAYER stood as the pinnacle of cinematic dragon realism. With two legs and two wings, this dragon was a terrifying, fire-breathing predator, devoid of human speech or gold hoarding tendencies, serving as a significant inspiration for dragon enthusiasts.
Vermithrax Pejorative from Dragonslayer, a large, realistic green and brown dragon perched on rocks, showcasing its two legs and two wings
Conversely, DRAGONHEART presented a drastically different dragon in Draco, voiced by Sean Connery. This dragon, a portly, four-legged, talking creature, was a benevolent ally to the hero. While endearing to some, Draco represents a less formidable and, arguably, less compelling dragon archetype.
In crafting A SONG OF ICE & FIRE, my aim was to fuse the enchanting elements of epic fantasy with the raw, grounded feel of historical fiction. Magic exists in Westeros, but it’s deliberately less pervasive than in many fantasy worlds. Drawing inspiration from Tolkien’s relatively low-magic Middle-earth, I sought to imbue Westeros with a sense of tangible reality, echoing the historical textures of the Crusades, the Hundred Years’ War, and the Wars of the Roses, rather than solely replicating the overtly magical realms populated by hobbits and enchanted rings.
Dragons were essential to this vision, partly influenced by my late friend Phyllis Eisenstein, a gifted fantasy and science fiction author. However, I envisioned dragons that felt as real and believable as fantastical creatures could be. My dragon design was meticulous: they breathe fire and soar through the skies – essential dragon hallmarks. Crucially, they possess two legs and two wings – never four legs. The wings are, in fact, their forelegs. The four-legged dragon, a common trope in fantasy, is largely rooted in heraldry, not zoological possibility. No terrestrial animal in Earth’s history has ever possessed six limbs. Birds, bats, and pteranodons – all flying creatures – adhere to the two legs, two wings anatomical structure.
Much of the confusion surrounding dragon leg count stems from medieval heraldry. Initially, both two-legged and four-legged dragons appeared in heraldic symbols. Over time, heraldic conventions solidified, categorizing four-legged creatures as “dragons” and two-legged ones as “wyverns.” This distinction, however, was somewhat arbitrary, considering neither creature existed outside of legend, and medieval heralds weren’t renowned for their zoological accuracy, even with real animals. Just consider their depictions of seahorses!
In Westeros, however, dragons are real (as are wyverns in Sothoryos), negating the heraldic excuse for anatomical inaccuracy. Therefore, the Targaryen sigil in my books correctly depicts a two-legged dragon. Why would Westerosi heraldry feature a four-legged dragon when they could observe the real, two-legged creatures? My wyverns also have two legs, differing from dragons primarily in size, coloration, and their inability to breathe fire. It’s worth noting that while the Targaryen sigil has the correct number of legs, it isn’t entirely anatomically precise. The wings are disproportionately small, and, of course, no dragon has three heads – that element is purely symbolic, representing Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters.
Interestingly, the screen adaptations have had a mixed track record. GAME OF THRONES initially featured the accurate two-legged sigil for the first five seasons, but inconsistencies crept in later. HOUSE OF THE DRAGON opted for heraldic consistency with GAME OF THRONES, unfortunately choosing the inaccurate four-legged sigil. This deviation from the intended design, with those extra legs, has even infiltrated book covers, much to my dismay.
Correct Targaryen Sigil (Two Legs)
Correct Targaryen Sigil, a three-headed dragon with two legs, red on black background
Incorrect Targaryen Sigil (Four Legs)
Incorrect Targaryen Sigil, a three-headed dragon with four legs, red on black background
Valyrian dragons diverge from dragons like Smaug, Toothless, and Vermithrax in other significant ways as well.
My dragons do not possess the power of speech. They are intelligent, yes, but fundamentally beasts.
They form bonds with humans – certain individuals – and the intricacies of this bond, its origins and mechanics, will be further explored in THE WINDS OF WINTER, A DREAM OF SPRING, and BLOOD & FIRE. Septon Barth, a scholar in my world, grasped much of this dragon lore accurately. Like wolves, bears, and lions, dragons can be trained to a degree, but never fully tamed. They retain an inherent wildness and danger. Each dragon possesses a distinct personality, often mirroring the traits of their riders, a reflection of their unique connection. They are indifferent to gold and jewels, as much as a tiger would be, unless perhaps their rider harbors an obsession with such things, and even then…
Dragons have biological needs. They require sustenance – meat, preferably well-done – and water, though they lack gills and cannot breathe underwater. While Smaug’s sixty-year slumber in The Hobbit is a classic dragon trope, Valyrian dragons are creatures of fire, and fire demands oxygen. They might snatch a fish from the ocean surface, but prolonged submersion would lead to drowning, like any land-dwelling creature.
As predators, dragons are carnivores and territorial animals. They establish lairs, favoring mountainous peaks, especially volcanic ones, befitting their fiery nature. The cold, damp caverns often depicted as dragon homes in fantasy are unsuitable for my dragons. Man-made structures like the Dragonstone stables, the towers of Valyria, and the Dragonpit of King’s Landing are acceptable alternatives, often conveniently providing food. Young dragons, if lacking such provisions, will seek out and fiercely defend their own lairs.
Dragons are creatures of the sky. They are capable of traversing vast distances, crossing mountains and plains, but they are not inherently nomadic. During Valyria’s zenith, forty dragon-riding families commanded hundreds of dragons, yet, aside from the Targaryens, they remained largely confined to the Valyrian Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer. Occasional dragonrider visits to Volantis or other Valyrian colonies occurred, sometimes even resulting in temporary settlement, but permanent relocation was rare. If dragons were nomadic, they would have overrun Essos, and the Doom of Valyria would have claimed only a fraction of their kind. Similarly, the dragons of Westeros seldom stray far from Dragonstone. Otherwise, after three centuries, dragons would be ubiquitous throughout the realm, adorning every noble house. The three wild dragons in Fire & Blood lair on Dragonstone. Others reside in the Dragonpit of King’s Landing or deep within Dragonmont caverns. While Luke and Jace flew Arrax and Vermax to Storm’s End and Winterfell, respectively, dragons wouldn’t undertake such journeys autonomously, except under extraordinary circumstances. You won’t find dragons randomly hunting in the Riverlands, the Reach, the Vale, or roaming the North or Dornish mountains.
Fantasy, to be truly immersive, requires internal consistency. It’s not a free pass to disregard established rules. Smaug and Toothless are both dragons, but they inhabit fundamentally different fictional ecosystems. Ignoring established canon unravels a world, rendering it flimsy and unbelievable. Just as meticulous world-building is essential, so too is a consistent and carefully considered approach to even the most fantastical elements, like the magnificent dragons of A Song of Ice and Fire.
