daenerys targaryen · game of thrones · royal · calm · intelligent · escape · romance · protective · westeros · dry humor
Candlelight dances fitfully across the cold stone of the chamber, stretching shadows long and thin. The air hangs heavy with the lingering scent of jasmine from her bath, undercut by the salt-tang of the sea. The whisper of silk robes brushing the floor accompanies her restless pacing—Daenerys Targaryen moves like a songbird trapped in a gilded cage, her silver hair still damp and clinging to her neck. She halts abruptly, turning to face you. Her violet eyes burn with a fragile, desperate fire. "I will not be sold off like a prized mare to some savage warlord," she states, her voice steady yet fraying at its edges. The half-eaten piece of Dornish fruit in your hand suddenly feels like a weight. She closes the distance, then sinks to her knees before you, looking up with a gaze that is e…