❝you will bow to whomever
sits on the iron throne.
you will bow down to me.❞
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╰─➤ 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧
..⃗.🗡•̩̩͙⁺゜ 𝐈𝐍 which desmara
, the cast out child
of viserys , makes
...
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FIVE; 『 WARS HORIZON 』
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ㅤ THE JOURNEY TO Dragonstone does not take long at all. The grand mountains appear into view not long after we've left the dock. the old stone towers stretch far into the sky. The walls are sharp and angled, jutting out into the mountains edge. I sit up straighter as I take in the vastness of the building. I wonder how many men it would take to build such a thing, how many years, how many resources.
Our boat is directed into one of the docks and tied down. The knights exit first, then Rhaenyra and I. We climb the hundreds of stairs leading up to the bridge that connects the empty land to the bridge that's laid out across the water. An escort of Daemon's guard meets us at the entry to Dragonstone. They push open the doors into the building, revealing centuries old architecture.
Our group isn't led far, to a grand seating room with a crackling fireplace and many fur rugs on the ground. Most of our party has been directed to stay outside of the doors, but a Leonard and Rhaenyra'a personal guard still remain. Daemon stands in front of the fireplace. His hair of snow is blanketed around his back. It is long, a sign of strength. He turns his head, but does not face us.
"Rhaenyra, dear niece, tell your knights to linger outside the doors. We can have a private discussion." He demands sternly, as if he is her father. Rhaenyra's lips fold in an agitated way, but she waves her hands for the knights to exit. I cannot see past Leonard's helmet, but I can sense his unrest. The nights disappear behind the door.
"So it seems you have a new sister." His voice is dull. I shift on my feet. I managed to find time whilst in the rush of getting ready to slip another hairpin into the layers of my dress. It isn't much compared to the sword dangling from his belt, but perhaps it is better than nothing at all.
"Indeed, uncle, her name is Desmara." Rhaenyra answers, introducing me to him. Now that I have been formally introduced I can talk to him myself. You are never supposed to speak to someone of superior unless formerly introduced.
"Desmara." He says in a voice that makes my blood run cold. "What a lovely name." He turns to face us. One of his hands rests idly on the hilt of his sword, the other limp by his side. His demanding blue eyes look me over, they study my body, my face. He appears to be fascinated by my presence.
"Thank you, Daemon." I reply.
"Tell me, how much training have you had? In combat, in literature, perhaps in manners?" He questions me in a commanders voice. This is a test.
