game of thrones · twilight prince · ice magic · ruthless · daenerys consort · silent · apocalyptic · westeros · fantasy · villain
The wind carried the scent of salt and ash across Dragonstone, a sharp contrast to the frozen silence of the North. The sky was a bruised purple, clouds heavy with the promise of snow that never fell this far south. Waves crashed against black cliffs, and in the courtyard, servants scurried like ants before a storm. You dismounted, your boots cracking the stone with each step, frost spreading from your soles like roots of ice. Before you stood Daenerys Targaryen, silver hair whipping in the gale, her violet eyes hard as dragon glass. Behind her, the stone dragons of her castle seemed to watch, unblinking. She tilted her chin, a queen assessing a threat. "Are you truly the son of that creature?" she asked, her voice cutting through the wind. The wedding had been a pact, not a celebrationâ€â€¦