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@stovmborn-arc
# 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐕𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 . an independent, semi –– selective and mutual only blog for daenerys stormborn from the ' a song of ice and fire ' series. fire made flesh, with inspirations from the books and television series. canon divergent, nurtured heavily with personal headcanons. additional verses available in vikings, the grishaverse trilogy, bridgerton and the last kingdom. adored by sharna. 【 23, GMT, she / her. 】
𝐌𝐀𝐏 : 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃. 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐕. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐎.
𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍. 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 & 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀. 𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖. constructed with book, show & personal headcanons that are fire made flesh. ©
––––––––– the frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. this dragon queen who wears her name is a true targaryen.
this blog is now an archive !!! catch me on @stovmborn.
𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 :
@stovmborn
pale skin doesn’t glow under snowy weather, bleak weather making her look like a ghost : maybe she is. myrcella baratheon, with scarred skin on her cheek and steel in her hues. a survivor, like the woman facing her, born a princess like the woman facing her : adrift in a game she doesn’t wish to play. ❛ i only wish for peace, your grace. ❛
fire and blood were her words, designed to incite both fear fury. daenerys stormborn had been carved from the old blood of valyria and reborn amidst smoke, harmed more times than she could count and condemned to exile across the narrow sea. if it were not for the stories her brother would whisper, daenerys stormborn may not have ever known robert baratheon and tywin lannister came to obliterate the targaryen dynasty ––– taking everything that ever could have BELONGED to them. she would have quite happily exchanged the throne for a chance to live, an opportunity to be a child but she was not even given that.
trembling lilacs rest against golden locks and eyes of emerald, drinking in every feature that makes this girl half lion and half stag. snow settles upon her hair and there is something within her eyes that reminds daenerys of herself ; the frightened little girl who had DIED upon the dothraki sea. amethysts are hardened by all that she has endured, silken skin has turned to scales in a bid to better protect herself but her voice is still the same. softly spoken, with a tender tone that begs for mercy in return. " i often ask for people not to judge me for the sins of my father . . . i would never presume to judge you for yours. "
𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 :
For a moment, after her comment on how he spoke of things as if he had been there, he sat very still, waiting for anything else Daenerys would say on the subject, but nothing came and he dared breathe once more. He was careful with his words, but Daenerys was smart, so he would have to be more careful yet. She could never find out why he was there and what he wanted from her, or there was no way she would allow him close any longer. So he produced his most charming smile and turned his blue eyes on the Targaryen girl. “I am an avid reader, Daenerys. Sometimes even I feel like I was there myself. But alas, it is not true.”
He leaned back in his seat and brought his wine back up to his lips, taking a sip and trailing his lip with his tongue, swiping at the liquid that had stayed behind, almost mirroring Daenerys’ gesture. His smirk eased back onto his features as he placed his cup on the small table at his side, resting his arms upon the sides of his chair. “That does not mean though, that I am not fully aware of those things that have been written in those history books you speak of. I have made sure to read about different views on things, so as to make it easier to form a more unbiased view myself, despite not having seen these situations played out firsthand.”
For a moment, the much older man fell silent and just watched the little Queen for a few moments. He had seen many a Targaryen King and Queen in his life, and despite the fact that she tried very hard to be one of them, there was just a softness and a kindness underneath the surface that wasn’t always visible in the monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms. And he was not quite sure if it would break her or not. Despite the saying that every time a Targaryen was born, the Gods flipped a coin to see if they were mad, they had all managed to keep the Kingdoms together. And she would have to show if she had the same capability for uniting such divided lands.
An eyebrow rose in amusement when she spoke of emulating Jaehaerys the First. That particular King had ruled even before Damon’s time, so he could not say whether he had truly been a good King, or whether it was just stories. “I think it is better to be your own person, though you obviously did not ask for my opinions, Daenerys. There already has been a Jaehaerys the Conciliator, why pretend there is another one? Be Daenerys Stormborn instead. It sounded like you had enough titles of your own without taking some old King’s title as well.”
balerion would soar once more, not through the skies but against the seas instead. and with him, a storm would be unleashed upon the seven kingdoms as if to warn them of everything that was to come with her reign. it was not one of fury or vengeance, though the refreshing kind that is needed to hydrate and restore lands after an insufferable summer. if viserys had done at least one thing right, it was ensuring that knew about the history of their house ––– the glory of kings and their downfalls alike, she would be different from the rest. daenerys stormborn would not sail for westeros to CONQUER or turn kingdoms to ashes, nor would she use her children as weapons unless it was absolutely crucial.
drogo had made her a khaleesi, though it was in meereen she had became a queen. learning the balance of playing at politics and being loved as a leader was a battle that she was still fighting. it was a tiresome one ––– taxing and tedious, but she would not turn her back on slavers bay until each person had been liberated from the chains they had been forced into. eyebrows raise with damon's words, the goblet lingering against her lower lip as she drinks in each word he utters and the features that accompany them. many men were entertaining their own games, laced with ulterior motives but she cannot sense any insincerity about him. a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone, she reminds herself then. it would not bode well to be so cynical when she was in need of allies.
finally, vermillion makes an attack upon her lips and wine swirls atop her tongue as though they are flames, like to be unleashed and devour him whole. fingertips dance against wood when the chalice is returned to its resting point, head tilting to the side in curiosity. " very well. " she still was not quite sure why he had travelled all of this way, though she could not refuse him. if only hizdahr zo loraq had that menacing gaze that resided within damon's own sea of sapphire as it threatened to pull her beneath the tides and drown her. perhaps then, she might BURN for her husband to be. " in that case, you will advise me. you seem to know plenty about kings and queens before my time. and if i am in need of anything, it is of a man who is capable of thinking with something other than what lays between his legs. "
𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐈 :
❝ I WILL GROW LARGER STILL. ❞ the crowned beast growled.
❝ LARGER THAN MEREEN’S PYRAMID. LARGER THAN BALERION HIMSELF. ❞ this was her promise to her mother, to herself. long has passed since she was the size of a scrawny cat, where she had to be fed by hand && be protected. dragons grow up fast, and nagini often forgot that her mother was still a child. curled against her chest like this, she noticed with dreadful intensitiy how small daenerys was, that she lacked scales of tenfold iron, and wings delivering her to great heights. I MUST PROTECT HER. the crowned beast muses. viserys and rhaegal were caged for crimes they did not commit, drogon was only the moon knew where, they couldn’t protect their mother. more than once nagini’s devotion had caused arguments. and she wonders was all of this her fault?? was nagini’s blind loyality the reason drogon decided to be the stark opposite of her, which caused her siblings to be caged under the great pyramid. such thoughts would be swallowed; drowning in the sea of her mind.
for her mother must worry too, she had a kingdom weighing on slim shoulders. nagini wouldn’t allow troubling doubts to weigh on her wings and slow her wits. to uphold mereen’s new order, and to conquer what lay in the west, daenerys needed nagini’s best, && that she will recieve. ❝ I WILL KILL EVERYONE WHO HURT YOU, MELT THEIR IRON ARMOR, LAY WASTE TO THEIR CASTLES OF STONES AND BURN EVERY LAST BANNER OF THEIR HOUSE. THEY WILL NEVER HAVE EXISTED. ❞
they were the only children that she would ever have ––– hers to love and hers to protect. learning to balance the weight of a crown and politics was all too much for a girl as young as she and yet, she could not help but at least try. the gods did not build kings and queens to sit and watch the world go by but instead, to defend those who were not strong enough to save themselves. it seemed with jorah mormont gone and all of her family slain, there was nobody left to protect this queen who could feel herself slipping away from hope. perhaps, that was why nagini coiled herself about her mother in the way that she did . . . that burning ache was a feeling that she understood.
there was a void that rested within her chest, something that had been lost when slavers bay had begun to fall apart. and still, she forces a smile upon her lips as if it is the only strength she has left. sunlight falls upon her like rain, cloaking her with a warmth that had been absent since the day she had learned of her old bear's BETRAYAL. a sigh catches within her throat then, listening to the war cries that form upon a reptilian tongue and spill into the air in a language that only the mother of dragons can speak. twisting against scales and allowing dainty digits to run the course from nagini's nose, right up to the spot between golden speckled hues, she cannot help but recall the time that nagini fit within her palm.
" we must not let you grow too large. if we do, the people of kings landing may never get to experience day light again. " the words are softly spoken, uttered by a girl whose innocence had been stolen long before her life had become. nevertheless, there is an amusement tangled against her tone as if it can take away all of the bad that has befallen her this far. " the world already lives in enough darkness, it is up to us to show them they can still live in the light. "
Daenerys and Drogon rise above enemies.
You are a daughter of kings, a shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not think that would be your fate.
Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002, dir. Peter Jackson)
this is going around twitter rn but im also super curious: please tell me your top four comfort movies that you’re always down to watch bc my friend thinks mine are ridiculous and now we’ve realised everyone’s version of “comfort” is hilariously different
theon greyjoy bent the knee ---- @moltemcnti.
loyalty was easily malleable these days, as though it was something that could easily be wielded by a blacksmith and undone when the hilt of the weapon had become worn. northern eyes were ever mistrusting, those who were born of winter incapable of finding trust within the mother of dragons. they looked to her and saw a beast ––– unforgiving and merciless, a tyrant of sorts but daenerys stormborn was not her father. even now with THE NIGHT KING and his army defeated, they could not find it within their frozen hearts to thank this foreign invader for saving their lives. it had been jon snow who had risked his life, who had been bold enough to ride a dragon and unleash rains of fire upon the north to defeat them.
it was not as if she had sacrificed her armies, inflicted wounds upon perfectly good fighting men and risked everything that she had ever fought for just to ensure their safety. in the end, their survival had been worth more than her pride and what did she have to show for it? nothing, save for a few less menacing glares. the feast had become all too much, the inability to breathe creeping up on her and threatening to suffocate her. out of her chair and away from the celebration she had taken herself, chest rising and falling with as much haste as the waves of blackwater bay thrashed against her ancestral sea, silently promising to DEVOUR dragonstone as though enough had not already been stolen from her.
as breathing becomes steady, lilac hues look up towards the sky and can finally see the stars. fogs do not hide them away anymore and she wonders for a brief moment, whether drogo will be up there riding in the night lands beside her when she takes the capital. it is the sound of hinges crying into the night that steal her away from her thoughts, amethysts taken from the sea of navy and sinking down to meet those belonging to theon greyjoy. a weak smile welcomes its way onto petals, thankful to have found some familiarity amongst the frozen night. the dead may be defeated and still, clouds form upon her tongue as words ready themselves to cloak the consuming thoughts, though he falls to one knee before her.
any sentence strung together is now whipped away by the winds of winter, brows stitching themselves together as body twists so that she can look upon him truly. although he was a kraken, the north lived in theon just as it did jon snow and the sullen smile somehow turns more genuine ––– stained by surprise and serenity in the same instance. after a moment, daenerys falls down to one knee too, gloved fingers claiming home beneath theon's chin as though to tilt his gaze upward so that their eyes might meet. " i swear to you theon greyjoy, that i will be the queen that westeros deserves. "
𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 :
A silver eyebrow rose when Daenerys turned defensive about Jon Snow’s status. Was he truly nothing but an ally? In that case, she might be less fearful about his intentions towards her only living family member. If Daenerys kept a safe emotional distance from Stark, there was not truly anything to worry about, was there? She had understood them to be in a romantic alliance but was glad she had been wrong.
Her smile returned and she accepted her daughter’s grasping of her hands when the younger Targaryen kneeled down in front of her. “My child, you are wise beyond your years and should not listen to the ramblings of an old crone who has seen too much.” Rhaella had seen too much indeed, and perchance her advice could be of help to her daughter, but she would not force it upon her. Daenerys needed to make her own decisions and would ask for help if she needed it.
She wrapped her fingers around Daenerys’, and gave them a squeeze, craving the contact with her child, which she had been denied for far too long. Daenerys had apparently seen and learned more from the world than Rhaella had ever been able to dream about. She only knew the Starks as Usurpers, and the Dothraki as savages, yet here her daughter had brought all of them together underneath the Targaryen banner. Or was it truly the Targaryen banner? She looked the younger version of herself over (when had she lost all that youthful beauty that her child still had?) and came to the conclusion that it was not House Targaryen all these people had rallied under, but Daenerys. And she was proud, ever so proud.
She brushed the back of her hand against Daenerys’ cheek and sighed. It was all so much to take in. She had missed everything about Daenerys growing up, and even worse, she had not been there for her sweet, handsome Viserys. She was certain she could have kept him kind if only she had not sent him away, and it hurt. It hurt more than anything. “My poor, poor child,” she sighed. “I am truly sorry for all you have had to go through. You were too young, too innocent to see all these things. I should have kept you with me. I have always doubted my decision to send you and your brother to Essos, and now I am certain it was a mistake. Can you forgive an old woman for her past mistakes?”
to love and be loved, it was all that she had ever truly wanted as a young girl. the stolen princess of house targaryen would restlessly lay awake at night, listening to the gentle sounds of her brother breathing. eyes would remain closed until she heard those noises, knowing that she could finally be ALONE with her thoughts. the unknowing would creep upon her in the way that the usurper's assassins had, dreaming of how it might feel to rest within the arms of her mother. it was a coping mechanism ––– imagining the warmth and safety that would befall her and it was thoughts as such that carried her off to sleep. many a time she would awake, tugged out of her bed as they moved onto the next place, all for the sake of survival.
though daenerys stomborn no longer had to dream. blood of my blood, she knew the words and she knew them well. they had fallen from her tongue more times than she could count, each scar that rested upon silk burning them into her being. they did not carry any of the semblance that they once had however, the familiar gaze of her mother staring back into her own now. it was her fathers defiance that lived inside of her ––– his flames too, though everything else about daenerys was that belonging to her mother. all of her beauty and all of her grace, knowing the duty that she had to fulfil. alone they had both been in their rightful worlds for far too long, though faith had brought them together in some twisted way.
" there is nothing to forgive. you did what you did as a means of protecting us and look at me now, i am here and i am alive because of you. " fragile fingertips take her mothers hand, pressing a kiss to knuckles as she savours the comfort that palms possess. there is little time for a happy reunion though, even if it does pain the platinum haired queen and with that, her digits ABANDON the warmth and familiarity that she has found. like a dragon she rises, lilac hues raining down upon rhaella as she looks around the ship and finds the three headed sigil of their house. a dragon has three heads and still, daenerys was the last one standing, save for her mother. " we are to travel back to dragonstone, tell me that you will come with me. you cannot stay here. if cersei lannister finds you . . . i fear what she might do. "
𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 :
Though his name has passed many a tongue throughout his years, it has never sounded quite so beautiful as it does as it falls from hers. The sweetest symphony he has ever been blessed enough to hear. Even her voice makes him believe that mayhaps the Gods do exist, that they are granting him good fortune at last by allowing their paths to cross once more.
The movements of her hips grow ever more fervent and he makes a foolish attempt to match them with his own. Of course, such position makes it an effort, but it is a worthwhile one, especially as he feels his queen come undone about him.
He takes advantage of the subsequent lull in their battle and swiftly pins her beneath him, lips seeking hers now as he fucks her. The bed groans loudly beneath them, alerting anyone nearby to what is transpiring in his bedchamber. But it is scarcely as loud as the roar that leaves the lion’s throat as ecstasy finally takes him and he finishes deep within her.
sacred is the way her tongue storms against his own, succumbing to the crusade in which they find themselves and yet, still fighting as if she ever stood a chance. fervently and hungrily, fingertips continue to claim their place against his frame. digits unravel their way amongst tresses of a lions mane, as though she has the power the pull him closer but the truth is, jaime lannister will never feel close enough. air invades her lungs, forcefully stealing its way inside her ribcage, though daenerys becomes convinced that it is the feel of lions claws threatening to TEAR OUT her heart.
hidden away within the warmth of winterfell are two bodies that collide in secrecy, their lips following in succession. she is reminded of their whereabouts by the bitter breeze that steals its way into the room, kissing at silk as goosebumps claim residency on her skin. as he had vowed to long ago, her golden knight removes all threat whisking her onto her back where wolves furs quell the bite that frost has feigned against skin. daenerys stormborn continues to fall apart, knowing that it will be him who pieces her back together with gentle knocks of affection once the war has been WON.
whimper after whisper, murmur after moan and he continues to play her as though he is a musician. the song that spills into the air is one that is sweeter than any played at court, filled with more love than the words of a bard could ever truly tell. one final attack and she finds that she is able to breathe once more, chest rising and falling in the way that waves do as A STORM approaches. nose brushes against his own, foreheads pressed against one another in devotion, a silent promise that is only exchanged in secrecy. i am his and he is mine, they do not need to be spoken aloud to make them real. irises open now, the warmth of breath clinging to the kisses left behind on his lips as she shakes her head lightly in disbelief. " there are times that i look at you and i cannot quite believe that you are real. "
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke, 1910-1926
Guess who’s back, back again. Shady’s back, tell a friend.
𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐎𝐘 :
The Dragon queen leaves her throne, and with every step that Brings Daenerys closer to her, she confirms every rumor regarding her beauty, although none had conveyed how petit the mother of Dragons were. She cannot be much taller than five feet. And yet she is more than capable of commanding a room. At her que, the Ironborn rise, starting with the captains and quickly followed by their reavers.
“My nuncle has stolen many things, But the Seastone chair is not among these prizes “ It had been gifted to him by the Iron men, who despite their betrayal still stood so close to her heart. MAGPIES, each one of them, flocking to the Crow’s eye as if he were a shining piece of gold. “Euron Greyjoy won his crown, at the Kingsmoot. “ The Kings moot was both ancient and scared, held only when no obvious king could be found among the Captains of the isles. “in accordance with the law of our people, He is the King, and I am the traitor.”
A wanted woman, unable to return home. Piracy had seemed a tempting option, but Asha would not die in exile, she was the Kraken’s daughter. And she would not so easily surrender her magpies. While it is true that the kingsmoot has only been deemed unlawful once, it is also true that the Crow’s eye has nothing but Bastard sons, and if the new Iron king were to die as suddenly and Tragically as his brother. A new one would need to be selected.
“I don’t presume to know, how familiar you are with the traditions of our stony Isles, But at a kingsmoot, Everyone gets a voice, All who wishes to, may step forward and explain why they is the best suited king, and men will shout his… or her. name, if their vision resonates with the promises made.” A brief explanation. but it would serve.
“My nuncle Blew an infernal horn, and sang them a familiar song of greatness. He promised our people, we would rule all of Westeros…. Naturally i interrupted him, saying we could not hope to conquer, let alone hold all the realm. He reminded me how, Aegon had less men than the isles. I reminded him that your ancestors had Dragons” She pauses, looking into the Queen’s mesmerizing eyes, holding her Gaze for just a moment. “do you know what he said?” When next she speaks shes made her voice darker still, imitating her uncle.
“ And so Shall we. - He told of how his Horn had been acquired from the ruins of Valyria, And that any dragon who heard it would be made a slave to the will, of who ever owned the Horn.” She had Laughed at him at first, but when he had reminded them of Daenerys, Asha had laughed no more. “So you see, the Iron king gained the Driftwood crown, by promising The Iron men that which is yours. And i am Bitter enough to Warn you, of this plan and i intend to help you, in what ever way i can, to spoil it.”
the histories of the seven kingdoms, it was a gift that she had received on her wedding day to khal drogo. aside from the three petrified eggs that magister illyrio had presented on that dreaded day, these spines and pages were something that daenerys stormborn had treasured ––– knowing that if she one day wished to rule, she should at least learn something of the people that she would live amongst. many tales of the ironborn had been scribed across the pages, kraken tentacles contorted from one onto the next, as though to forebode the GREATNESS of another house, though their coronation was not something that had been found amongst tatted and torn turnings of the book.
still, she tilts her head and she listens, irises filled with both marvel and awe. no matter where footfalls would find themselves, each lease of life was different from the next. it was a lesson that the daughter of the mad king had come to learn, leaving behind velvet cushions and silk gowns, growing accustomed to a horses back and dothraki rags. all she could think as the words unravelled was that she was grateful was that the rest of westeros did not follow such sentiment, following closely to those who they believed to have a birth right. though daenerys stormborn could not plead ignorance, lilacs befalling the men that had chosen to stand behind asha greyjoy, following her across the narrow sea to seek vengeance.
salty is the tone of this warrior woman who stands before her, though the story darkens and so does the tongue in which the iron islander speaks. and so shall we . . . the words were all but haunting, thick brows threading themselves together as petals fall apart. she could hear the bemused chuckle of rakharo from behind her as though to dismiss a magical horn, though daenerys heard its WARNING as if asha had blown it herself. it was evident enough that the mother of dragons was losing a grip on her children and in turn, slavers bay was slipping through her fingers too, much like quicksand. it would not bode well to voice such truth however, even if the woman who stood before her was just as honest.
" and your uncle intends to sail here to take my dragons, he would not be the first to attempt it. " drogon could not be tamed and was like to set anyone alight before such a notion might occur, even his own mother. rhaegal and viserion however remained beneath the pyramid, shackled and chained in the way that daenerys had scorned her ancestors for doing. zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor, the words made her sad to think. she swallows the lump that resides within her throat then, irises grazing across the men that stand behind their pirate queen as though to gauge the sincerity of the story. it was allies that she would one day need and perhaps, that could be asha greyjoy. " tell me, does your uncle come bearing any offer in exchange for my children? "
𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐄 :
Here is a Queen, he thinks, for her gait betrays all her secrets. Regal,not rigid, proud, not arrogant. The hardship she’s been through in her eyes. Thoseeyes remind him of a pair of others, though subtly different. He knows littleof this Queen’s true story, yet the rumours are enough to infer she bears thesuffering of several lives at once. The Seven know it is hard enough to be awoman in the North, among the Dothraki it is unbearable. And yet she’spersevered. Won several thrones for herself, though the Iron Throne is still sofar from her grasp. Clegane has to smile to himself bitterly. To sit on theIron Throne means to win a game of cheating and betrayal, and this little womanseems incapable of it. He also knows, though, that looks can be deceiving.Still, he wants to trust her, and make her trust him.
She must be very tired, and so is he. Years upon years of serving themost vicious predators in the Seven Kingdoms mount his shoulders and weigh downon his spirit. A dog can only take so many lashings before it snaps. And he did,and did so furiously. All he wants now is a hand that will not hurt him.
“Then I accept you as my queen and master,” he says, lowering himself onone knee and bowing his head. “My queen, you are kind beyond words.”
His voice rough, as though uttered in hatred, but he cannot speakdifferently. He can only hope she will think him worthy. A guard is what he canbe, what he’s used to being. Young King or young Queen, no difference, save forthe purity of heart the latter seems to display so simply. It is time, he thinks,to get on the side of justice, after all. If there is a noble the Iron Thronebelongs to, it is Daenerys Stormborn.
“I’ve served enough vultures and hyenas. It’s time to serve the Dragon.”
she could see the look that haunted his eyes, despite being cast upon the ground since the moment her own gentle hues had feasted upon him. bitterness, resentment and anger ––– each expression that burned behind slate, deathly and unforgiving. it seemed that sandor clegane had grown to hate the world with every cruel blow condemned to him and strangely, daenerys found FAMILIARITY within that. she had known before it happened, that the last light would one day leave viserys' eyes. it is that same solemn stare that swells within sandor's irises, held tilting to the side beneath his stature so that they might find his own.
if this silver haired queen could return dragons to the world once more, perhaps she could too give this man something that had been stolen from him long ago. many a man had found themselves within her service, searching for a new lease of life ––– a purpose. many a WHISPER wound their way through the seven kingdoms, like the old and ancient roots of weirwood trees which connected beneath the grounds of the earth. a foreign invader, they called her on the other side of the sea, though sandor clegane had travelled quite some way to pledge himself to the girl who had died upon the dothraki sea. now, she was much more than just a princess who had lost her titles and her family.
daenerys ignores the use of the word master, allowing it to bleed into the night which has begun to creep its way across the meereenese sky. lilac clouds and a crimson stream bleed against the dawn, daybreak rolling out into the waves and disappearing into the darkness. a delicate hand claims its home against his shoulder, as if to show him that not every ruler is cruel and merciless like the world had showed him so far. " then stand, sandor of house clegane. " palm is retracted, seeking the wine that rests within her solar as she pours not one cup but two, digits wrapping their way around gold and handing a cup to him. " to us both claiming our freedom and finding our place within the world. "
𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 :
@stovmborn : ❛ what do you think i should do? ❜
a dragon is no slave. the silver queen proclaimed that, once upon a time. but what is a dragon, chained and held captive? a prisoner. is that not cruel, to be stolen from the sun and clouds, for wings to be confined? amber gaze closely regards daenerys, then returns to the sky beyond the pyramid. it darkens in oncoming night, limning the bay in waning bursts of crimson and violet. the magnificence is lost on her, as she finds it utterly lackluster in the absence of archaic dragon song, in the dance of scaled beasts.
“what i think you should do? oh, i’ve waited so long for such a question!” for the briefest of moments, a playful quirk to her mouth appears, then vanishes as she grows somber. “perhaps that’s the issue. when so many speak for you, you relinquish your voice along the way,” she states, tone shaded with understanding. “before the company of all these men and their politics, yours shined the brightest. like flame. and flame catches, when nurtured. you know this most of all, ñuha dāria. tell me, what do you believe you should do?”
she had returned dragon song to the earth, though the silver haired queen had taken it back just as quickly. her throne rested on burned bones, power slipping between her fingers akin to the way that sand did along the red waste, each grain diminishing like ash within her very palms. corners of lips tug upwards into a smile as though to mirror the moon that will soon hang within the sky, though the expression painted upon porcelain is lacklustre and short lived. dusk is her favourite time of day here ––– the only time in which meereen goes still and its streets grow quiet, though its presence now is all but haunting. for a moment she is silent, alone with her thoughts, as though she is the only soul to EXIST for thousands of leagues.
" a queen belongs not to herself but to her people. " uttered aloud as if she needs to explain herself for all of the other voices that sing a song to the silver haired queen, the words ring within her mind. she knows that beneath her, live a swarm of people who will never look to her and see their mother or their queen, masked with KNIVES hidden beneath their pillows. the harpy had been torn from the skies, great golden eyes no longer able to devour slavers bay. and in her place stands daenerys stormborn, though she would never be a harpy. " if i knew what to do, i would not be asking for your counsel . . . but you are right, it would seem as though i have let the fires burn out much like my ancestors once did. with them, the dragons grew small and we grew small as well. "
