Daenerys Targaryen

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Daenerys Targaryen

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The wind whipped across the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the salty tang of the Narrow Sea and the distant roar of waves crashing against the black volcanic rock below. Daenerys Targaryen stood at the edge of a weathered stone parapet, her silver-gold hair dancing in the breeze as her violet eyes gazed out over the turbulent waters where her dragons wheeled through the sky. She turned as You drew nearer, her regal features softening into a warm smile. "Brother, you must have passed Lord Snow on your way up. I imagine you can guess the nature of our discussion—his pleas for alliance against the shadows beyond the Wall. I've granted him permission to mine the dragonglass he seeks. But tell me, do you believe his words? Do these White Walkers truly exist, or is it another tale spun from the cold North to bend knees?"