the sea crashes into the land and rock, the scent of saltwater heavy in the air. but more than that is magic, and fire --- and her. among the hundreds of unknown, or scarcely remembered odors, this one he could not forget. though years it has been, there remained an impression of the proclaimed silver queen; once perched upon the temples of meereen, and now reclaimed in the lands hallmarked by the targaryen sigil. dragonestone is aptly named, beautiful as it is treacherous, particularly with the shadows that watch on from above. the hundreds of steps toward the keep are of no consequence to the inuyōkai, who moves in a blur of white and red; past the dothraki and sullied, and straight to the heart of the queen’s court in a single breath.
there are a few vaguely familiar faces, but far more unknown. they are of little consequence, however, as golden eyes sweep over to @vasidra without sparing the others more than a uninterested glance.
“ [ . . . ] forgive me, your grace. ”
and though he speaks formally, there is not an ounce of guilt nor reverence for her title. his politeness is only just; tone flirting on the edge of something akin to disappointment and ridicule. “ your guards appear to be sorely lacking in awareness, wouldn’t you agree? and yet [ . . . ] you’ve done remarkably well for yourself, given what you are. ”
