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dany felt a tightness inside her. "before i was khaleesi, i was the blood of the dragon."
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get the heads of all the noble houses out of their pyramids on some pretext, daario had said. the dragon’s words are fire and blood.
dany pushed the thought aside. it was not worthy of her.
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stormborn, she was called, for she had come howling into the world on distant dragonstone as the greatest storm in memory howled outside, a storm so fierce that it ripped gargoyles from the castle walls and smashed her father's fleet to kindling.
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daenerys targaryen, as depicted by eric velhagen in the illustrated asoiaf 2018 calendar alongside her dragons and khal drogo.
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“my speech may be tyroshi, my garb dothraki, but i am of westeros, of the sunset kingdoms,” dany told him.
doreah stepped up beside her. “you have the honour to address daenerys stormborn, khaleesi of the riding men and princess of the seven kingdoms.”
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she must not flinch or look afraid. i am the blood of the dragon, she told herself as she took the stallion's heart in both hands, lifted it to her mouth, and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh.
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"no, i would not want to live in a world without dragons, as i would not want to live in a world without magic, for that is a world without mystery, and that is a world without faith."
—r.a. salvatore
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westeros had seven gods at least... seven facets of a single crystal. that was just confusing. the red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war.
dany liked that even less. she would not want to be eternally at war.
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“as swift as the wind he rides, behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. fierce as a storm this prince will be.”
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“is it still to be meereen?”
“where else? the dragon queen awaits me in meereen.” the fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.
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