and all shall be mine, Daenerys, GmagisterequitumOctober 15 2011, 21:38:25 UTC
She is a girl no more. There is little that remains of the young one with the dreams and hopes that had marched her way from city to city, collecting lost ones to her army as she saw fit to. Not even much of the khaleesi remains.
It is a queen that sits the Iron Throne, resplendent in a red gown the color of the blood that won her the Seven Kingdoms and black stones woven into the braids of her hair. Targaryen colors, her colors, and they are her armor here. The Throne seems to embrace her, the metal not even pricking her skin, as if it has grown weary of the fighting like everyone else; or if it has recognized its true ruler, but more likely the first.
Daenerys, first of her name, sits on her throne and looks out at the remaining lords of Westeros. She has called all the Houses, great and small, important or not, here to King's Landing. Their old prestige no longer applies. She will decide who holds what, who takes what, and who matters.
She lifts her chin, and stares at them all. She makes sure that her voice is steady and her accent faint. "I desire your loyalty and your oaths."
And I will have them, she thinks.
As one, the lords and ladies sink to the cold floor of the hall. Their voices, one after another, give themselves to her. And Westeros is hers.
It is a queen that sits the Iron Throne, resplendent in a red gown the color of the blood that won her the Seven Kingdoms and black stones woven into the braids of her hair. Targaryen colors, her colors, and they are her armor here. The Throne seems to embrace her, the metal not even pricking her skin, as if it has grown weary of the fighting like everyone else; or if it has recognized its true ruler, but more likely the first.
Daenerys, first of her name, sits on her throne and looks out at the remaining lords of Westeros. She has called all the Houses, great and small, important or not, here to King's Landing. Their old prestige no longer applies. She will decide who holds what, who takes what, and who matters.
She lifts her chin, and stares at them all. She makes sure that her voice is steady and her accent faint. "I desire your loyalty and your oaths."
And I will have them, she thinks.
As one, the lords and ladies sink to the cold floor of the hall. Their voices, one after another, give themselves to her. And Westeros is hers.
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"I desire your loyalty and your oaths."
And I will have them, she thinks.
That subtle but determined confidence was PERFECTION; wonderfully done!!
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