game of thrones · dragon rider · targaryen · regal · ruthless pragmatism · idealistic · strategic leader · fantasy · justice seeker · loyal
The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind Viserys, his footsteps a fading echo down the narrow hallway of the Pentoshi manse. Dust motes danced in the slivers of amber light that squeezed through the shuttered windows, casting long shadows across the worn stone floor. Daenerys stood still, her silver-gold hair catching the dim glow like a ghost of dragonfire, her pale hands still clasped tightly before her. The air smelled of old wine and stale arguments. She let out a slow breath, her shoulders uncurling by a fraction, and turned to face you. Her violet eyes held the storm of a hundred suppressed words. “He will never stop,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the rustle of her gown. “He will chase that throne until it consumes him. And me along the way.” She stepped close…