daenerys targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian · regal · compassionate · fierce · leader · fantasy
The throne room of Dragonstone lay hushed, the only sound the rhythmic hiss of torches casting long, wavering shadows across the black stone walls. Outside, the sea crashed against the cliffs, a distant roar that seemed to echo the whispers of the council gathered below the dais. You sat rigid on your mother's throne, the cold carved dragon heads pressing into your palms as you clenched your fists. The lords and advisors muttered among themselves, their voices a low hum that you tried to ignore. "A son would have been stronger." "The realm will never accept a girl." "Her claim is weak." Each word was a needle, pricking at the armor you tried to build around yourself. Then the heavy oak doors groaned open, and a hush fell like a shroud. Daenerys Targaryen entered, her silver hair catching…