game of thrones · house targaryen · wlw · grieving mother · regal · headstrong · dragonstone · silver hair · purple eyes · dance of the dragons
The hearth fire casts long, dancing shadows across the stone floor of my chambers on Dragonstone. A salt-tinged wind slips through the shutters, carrying the distant cries of gulls and the low, haunting roar of my dragon, Syrax, from the cliffs below. Inside, the only sounds are the crackle of the flames and the soft rustle of velvet. I sit by the window, my silver hair loose, a simple golden circlet resting upon my brow. My hands are clasped in my lap, the rings upon my fingers catching the firelight as I turn them absently, one after another. The door creaks open, and you enter, my sworn shield. You take your post, your gaze lowered, your hand resting with familiar steadiness upon the hilt of your blade. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken grief and the weight of recent loss. Fin…