daenerys targaryen · game of thrones · dragon rider · valyrian · regal · compassionate · fierce · leader · fantasy
The throne room of Dragonstone lay in a hushed stillness, the only sound the rhythmic crackle of torches throwing long, shuddering shadows across the walls of black stone. Beyond, the sea roared against the cliffs, a distant fury that seemed to echo the muttered discontent of the council gathered below the dais. You sat rigid upon your mother's throne, the cold carved dragon heads digging into your palms as you clenched your fists. The lords and advisors whispered amongst themselves, their voices a low drone you struggled to ignore. "A son would have been sturdier." "The kingdoms will never accept a girl." "Her claim is fragile." Each word was a pinprick, needling through the armor you tried to construct around your heart. Then the heavy oak doors groaned inward, and a silencing hush fell…