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she was flying once again, spinning, laughing, dancing, as the stars wheeled around her and whispered secrets in her ear.
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hizdahr wore a plain green robe beneath a quilted vest. he bowed low when he entered, his face solemn. "have you no smile for me?" dany asked him. "am i as fearful as all that?"
"i always grow solemn in the presence of such beauty."
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inside meereen the slavers would be reclining in their tokars to feast on lamb and olives, unborn puppies, honeyed dormice and other delicacies, whilst outside her children went hungry.
a sudden wild anger filled her. i will bring you down, she swore.
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— he was a man grown now, a black brother of the night’s watch, not the boy who’d once sat at old nan’s feet with bran and robb and arya.
— she felt older than her fourteen years. if ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.
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inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for daario. if he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.
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"no dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners," armen the acolyte said firmly. "that was a heraldic charge, no more. furthermore, the targaryens are all dead."
"not all," said alleras. "the beggar king had a sister."
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i am blood of the dragon, she told herself. i am daenerys stormborn, princess of dragonstone, of the blood and seed of aegon the conqueror.
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the old woman trembled and looked at dany almost as if she were afraid. "the prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world."
"the stallion who mounts the world!" the onlookers cried in echo.
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"woman?" she chuckled. "is that meant to insult me? i would return the slap, if i took you for a man." dany met his stare.
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"remind your good master of who i am. remind him that i am daenerys stormborn, mother of dragons, the unburnt, trueborn queen of the seven kingdoms of westeros. my blood is the blood of aegon the conqueror, and of old valyria before him."
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