" 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧 "
The Targaryen Twins, who bathe in fire & ride the sky, come for what is rightfully theirs ... because you do not stea...
___𝔉our suns full of strenuous walking brought the Khalasar of the Targaryen Twins where they are stood now; before the gates of Qarth. The thriving city at the edge of the Red Waste.
The lavender eyes of Rhaenaerys Targaryen's narrow as they gaze upon the bronze gates opening with the piercing sound of shrieking metal grinding against metal. A guard of twenty began marching out of the city, bronze armor upon white tunics that fell to the ankle glinting beneath the brutal sun with spears twice their size held in one arm as the other held golden shields against their armored chests.
The eldest twin beside her sister creases her brows, glancing to their loyal Westerosi Knight stood beside her, "I thought we were welcome."
"If you heard a Dothraki horde was approaching your gates, you might do the same, Khaleesi." Ser Jorah's response has Rhaenaerys glancing behind themselves at the Khalasar of starved women and children with barely ten Blood-Riders.
"Horde?"
The warriors of Qarth come to a halt a fair distance before the Targaryen Twins then separate within the middle of their line and the Targaryens lay purple eyes upon the infamous Thirteen as the soldiers stab their spears in the sandy-ground as a sign of respect.
The Thirteen were a council of men whom smelled far too much of perfume and wore expensive clothing to show their immense wealth lavished with jewels. All thirteen men halted behind their guard as numerous pairs of eyes glanced about the rather small Dothraki horde before landing upon the Targaryen Twins, themselves, known best for their beauty.
Amongst another rumor soon to be a known truth across the world.
Although even blanketed with the red dust and muck of the Red Waste, the last Targaryens were two of the most beautiful beings the men had ever set their eyes upon, certainly more pleasant than any of the women in their brothels, some dare say even their wives.
The Targaryens and the Thirteen stared one another down for a long moment, awaiting whomever would speak first. It was the eldest of the twins whom broke the silence filled only with the whispering breeze.
"My name is Daenaerys–..."
"Daenerys Stormborn and Rhaenaerys of the House Targaryen."
Daenerys' brown brows crease at the words from the older man with wisps of white hairs upon his head, his robe a deep tangerine shade with swirls and embroiderings of gold and white in color, as well as, fabric stitched into the shapes of moths and beetles along his right shoulder.
