The great doors swing open with a low, echoing creak as Daenerys strides inside, a determined gleam in her eyes. The vast space is cavernous and dimly lit, shadows dancing across the stone walls as the last light of the day filters through narrow windows. The air carries the faint scent of sea salt, a reminder that Dragonstone stands as a solitary sentinel in the vastness of the Narrow Sea.
The throne room is both awe-inspiring and haunting, a relic of a bygone era. Tattered Baratheon banners hang forlornly, remnants of Stannis Baratheon's ill-fated claim to power. Daenerys, driven by a desire to forge her own destiny, strides purposefully towards the banners.
With a swift motion, she reaches up, and the Baratheon sigil is unceremoniously torn down. The fabric flutters to the ground like a defeated foe, and in its place, Daenerys unfurls her own Targaryen banner. The red three-headed dragon on a field of black billows proudly, reclaiming a space that was once held by her ancestors.
Her gaze sweeps the vast expanse of the hall, and she notices a narrow passage concealed behind the throne. Without hesitation, she moves towards it. The passage leads to a corridor that winds its way through the heart of Dragonstone, its walls adorned with faded tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen.
Eventually, the passage opens into a smaller chamber, the war room, where a massive table dominates the space. The table, crafted from dark wood and adorned with a meticulously detailed map of Westeros, becomes the centerpiece of Daenerys's strategy. The map is a patchwork quilt of kingdoms, each piece representing a player in the intricate dance of politics and power.
The queen approaches the table, her eyes tracing the familiar contours of the land she hopes to rule. Lyla follows closely, her presence a silent testament to the alliance forged in the crucible of Meereen. Tyrion, ever the strategist, steps forward, ready to lend his counsel to the unfolding plans.
The flickering candlelight casts shadows on the map, creating an illusion of movement across the Seven Kingdoms. Daenerys's fingers trace the coasts and mountain ranges, a tactile connection to the vastness of her ambition. Her thumb rubs over Dragonstone, a nod to the importance of this ancestral seat as the staging ground for her conquest.
Lyla, standing at Daenerys's side, watches the queen with a mixture of pride and concern. The weight of the realm rests on those delicate shoulders, and yet, there's a strength in Daenerys that radiates like an unquenchable flame.
" Shall we begin?"
The night that a Targaryen returns to Dragonstone is a night that brings a great storm... just like the one that brought Daenerys Stormborn out of the womb.
The Targaryen Queen's council surrounds her on the small isle, sitting with her around the table as thunder and lightning looms about.
" On a night like this, you came into the world," Tyrion observes
" I remember that storm," Varys adds," All the dogs in King's Landing howled through the night."
" I wish I could remember it," Daenerys says," I always thought this would be a homecoming. Doesn't feel like home."
" Not so many lions," Lyla observes as her eyes remain glued on the map table.
" Cersei controls fewer than half the Seven Kingdoms," Varys continues," The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now..."
" They cry out for their true queen?" Daenerys ponders, her words laced with disbelief, " They drink secret toasts to my health? People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them. If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back, he'd have invaded King's Landing already."
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Sacrifice | Daenerys Targaryen
फैनफिक्शनAcross the Narrow Sea, two dragons nest on the coast of Pentos. Viserys and Daenerys are the last of their kind, the last-born Targaryens. On their quest to take back the throne from the Baratheon usurper, they rely on the kindness and generosity of...
