A Game of Thrones, Daenerys III
Viserys came upon her as sudden as a summer storm, his horse rearing beneath him as he reined up too hard.
“You dare!” he screamed at her. “You give commands to me? To me?”
He vaulted off the horse, stumbling as he landed. His face was flushed as he struggled back to his feet.
He grabbed her, shook her. “Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you. Look at you!”
Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here.
Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.












