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sonofrhaegar
“I am pleased you could come tonight, though I am sorry your father could not. It was kind of you to come in his place. I’m sure you have other business you’d prefer to be dealing with,” Celeste murmured, handing over a fresh goblet of wine and sending his old away. “With luck this party shall wind down and you will be free to enjoy your evening, yes?” She gave him a conspiratorial smile.
sonofrhaegar
“What brings self to presence?” A smile lit the senator’s face as he stood, welcoming his son into the room. “To what pleasure do I owe such unexpected visit?”
sonofrhaegar replied to your post:||Am slowly attempting to work on drafts. I’ve...
Sounds like something she would do lol
||Of course Jon would think so! :P
sonofrhaegar replied to your post:Your Dany is perfection. Best Dany. I love reading...
being biased doesn’t make me wrong! lol
||LOL it might!
sonofrhaegar replied to your post:When I read your writing, I can clearly imagine...
Loki is big enough to be a dragon
||LOL Poor Loki!
Until My Last Day || SonofRhaegar
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, had decided days ago that she did not like the cold.
Oh, she had enjoyed the snow at first--fat flakes falling from the sky that melted on her tongue, tasting of winter. She had laughed at first sight of them, the flakes barely noticeable in her silver-white hair as she threw snowballs at Ser Willem and the other knights who had accompanied her on the trek northward. Lord Connington, the Hand of the King, had assisted her with building a snowman, but shortly after that, the snow had lost its enchantment. Dany quickly discovered, she did not like the snow or the ice or the chilling winds that swept up, carrying the snow with them until it was almost impossible to see, and the drifts built up high over her head.
No, Daenerys did not like the snow at all, she decided, which in turn left her less than enamored with the North. In fact, she very much hoped that once she and the prince were married, they might be able to return to King’s Landing, for there were no charms that she had yet to see to hold her to such dreadful weather.
The people were nice enough, of that she could admit. The Lords and Ladies who had taken them in throughout their journey had been welcoming and kind, if not a bit rustic for her taste. The food they served was hearty, if slightly bland, and the halls were filled with raucous laughter, middling minstrels, and that ever-present chill that grew worse the further north they traveled. Dany may not have always enjoyed the stink and crowds of King’s Landing, but at least it was warm.
However, the chill that day did not bother her quite so much as she rode her grey palfrey along the King’s Road beside Lord Connington. Dany hated the great lumbering wheelhouse as it trudged along behind them, only conceding to hiding within when the wind howled and the snows blew deep. Riding made her happy, and her brother had gifted her with the beautiful steed that year for her 15th Name Day, which made her cherish the animal all the more. He was a sweet gelding with a shiny dark grey coat and silver-white mane and tail that almost matched the color of her own hair. Dany felt free when riding him, and a little bit reckless--the Hand was always cautioning her not to ride too far or too fast.
That day she was happiest though, because she knew it was their last upon the road. The arduous journey was finally coming to an end, for they could spy Winterfell ahead in the distance, slowly rising out of the grey and white land around them as some monstrous beacon. Dany had heard much about House Stark, and had once met Lord Eddard Stark when he had visited the Red Keep years before. Her brother, the king, often referred to them as a dour bunch--all but his lovely Lyanna, who he claimed had been more beautiful than any conceived sunset. Dany sometimes wished she could have met her; she thought she would have liked the woman her brother had loved.
“Not long now, Your HIghness,” Jon commented beside her as they rounded a bend in the road, Winterfell looming ever larger in the distance. “We should arrive within the hour.”
“We could arrive in three hours and I would yet be grateful,” she admitted with a smile, gently kicking the palfrey beneath her into a faster gait. “I long for a bath, and mulled wine, and a soft, warm bed to sleep in.”
“I am certain the Starks will be more than happy to provide all of the above, My Princess.”
“I feel like I’m lost”
—— ◣[ s i l v e r p r i n c e ]◥ ——
How to tell him? How to say that he may have his blood flowing through his veins; the blood of the dragon? Should he tell him?
❝ Why do you feel as such, Jon Snow?❞
(-x)
Hands braced his weight on the cold wood, snowing falling around and landing on the black of his cloak, staining the fur with white. Eyes moved from the view in front of him to look upon the woman standing next to him, a cold contrast to his dark silhouette. “Aye, sometimes those screams are too loud for some to handle and death claims them before they ever get the chance to see the end. There is little honor in such things.”
“Honor?” The tone with which she said the word left little question as to her feelings with regard to it. “Honor does little to save the living, and means even less to the dead. Honor is a word men use to excuse failed choices.”
Daenerys pulled the white furs draped over her shoulders closer to her, a brief longing for the warm climes of the East sweeping through her. Tyrion had said perhaps that was where she belonged, and while she still felt the pull of her true home, she had to wonder if she would ever grow used to such bitter cold that the man beside her seemed not to even notice.
Stepping closer to Jon, she lifted violet eyes to meet his gaze, her expression set and determined as she added, “Honor will not save Westeros from the White Walkers.”
