robbsnows:

      “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.”