the sound of rushing water, the quiet ruin of the once glorious and ancient city—were she to close her eyes, she could draw a line in the air where the expanse of towering trees and flowing rivers of her home, deep within the dravanian mountains, once was. to open her eyes, however, was to be faced with the brokenness of it all; of a shattered nation and a tattered home. splintered wood, cracked concrete and a human silence that could only ever find home in a place devoid of life beyond encroaching nature.
the solitude of it all was…soothing.
…despite the insistent, pulling presence beneath the tranquil. crackling in the aether, tickling at her skin, the warrior felt his call; whether he intended for it or otherwise. it began like this, always. a secluded area away from any prying eyes or ears, and then the pull. one unfelt by all except she—but that was his intention, always, was it not? and, much like the many times prior, she ignored it. willingly, for she was no dog at his beck and call. no, if he wished to speak to her, he must come to her.
willing or unwilling, daenerys never could quite tell… though it mattered little and less, she supposed.
he would come all the same, and she welcomed him each time.
“you are late…though i suppose time is of no consequence to one such as yourself. is that not so, emissary?”
