Daenerys Targaryen watches the sea.
The sun was fiery as hues on the horizon. Sinking fast; as if it was being eaten and swallowed by the ocean. Ravens resettling their wings, flattering it through the wind, the sun dawns the colour of the clouds— bright and deep enough— it streaked Daenerys' skin. She breathes and could no longer hold the uneased sensation brought by winter and spring.
Standing in the rail, as she watching the wave to be pounded by wave, as if they were dancing in the shadows of sun. Daenerys could vastly see the embers flying, passing down their ships, it almost touches her skin— but somehow, her attention isn't weary about it. Her eyes won't resent away from long black wisp curling in the sky.
Her hopes were gravely low. Even in far, Daenerys hears thethe crackling of the woods, scent of the burnt woods, embers from King's Landing. Scent of burnt and gray ashes— Daenerys isn't innocent of the scent, not at all.
Somehow, as the Dragon Queen stands in the rails of the ships, alone. Daenerys could vastly see the ember flying— passing down their ships, it almost kisses her skin. Her hopes are gravely low to ransom the horizon, as her eyes won't take off from the humungoes black air sailing through above. Even in far— she could hear the cracklings of woods, and scent the burnt woods from houses, even bodies are familiar to her nose if it was burnt or not.
"Khaleesi," She felt the touch. Voice was brimming and bulky, hands are rough enough— she felt . Jorah. Daenerys cannot take her eyes to the nearing city, and looked at Jorah. She widely remembers the scales, and bid farewell of the good friend.
"It is time." Is it?
Daenerys gives her hands to Jorah, and slightly walked toward down the ships, noise are nowhere to be heard— but waves and ravens are the only music that she could her. She stiffly walks, as her councils is standing still, waiting for their queen to step her both feet in the King's Landing.
Sound of ravens and wave are her friend through the journey, long but stoic enougj to make her things she need to do.
"Good day, my queen." Tyrion puts his left knees on the ground, and lowly put his head down— "We are currently in King's Landing."
Daenerys didn't respond, her souless eyes are folded by the grim, terror and nightmare in the King's Landing, feeling the tightened welcome of roofs; being covered in ashes, houses that was coiled deep in the ground, thoughtd are drooling inside her head— not even the pillars can take the loudand strong gorge of the fire— her father created.
Is this it? The throne I will inherit— once, I taken off the mad queen in her position? The throne where three rulers misguided and caused pericious decisions in their hand? Am I going to be one of them? If I, when?
The Dragon Heiress walks bit by bit, descripting the detailed of the perished bodies turned to ashes of the people in the King's Landing. Lurking around, and lowly sit in the ground— holding one of the black ashes fallen in the ground, watching it being hurried away by the wind.
Daenerys cannot take off the land, the only structure that keeps remaining standing was the Red Keep, but the black smokes covers the keep— ravishingly covering it by smokes.
"
she could see her council standing— her hand, Greyworm, Missande, and the spider, but even Daenerys wore the bright colours of her house, with nothing but a souless look on her eyes, shoulders are stiff, and energy seems down.
