#gclden

As ever, Alys was forced to stand up and greet the prince properly, scowling at the floor as she did so. Once she straightened, she couldn’t help but notice how STIFF his movements were, as if he was still wrapped up under his tunic and cloak, and was even limping slightly. She watched him struggle to take a seat, and struggle to not ROLL HER EYES when he ostentatiously ‘allowed’ her to take her seat again. “Grand Maester allowed you to leave your chambers,” She pointed out unnecessarily, while she AWKWARDLY shifted on her seat. “Are you... fully healed, then?” She hurried to add, “Your Grace?”

░▒▌╳▐ ᴅ ʀ ᴀ ɢ ᴏ ɴ ʟ ᴏ ʀ ᴅ

      ALL THE struggles that he's endured just to make it out in one piece of the shattered peninsula and to Meereen, are only a part of what is yet to come. To the rest of the world, Old Valyria is desolate place, a ghost of a once powerful civilization still tightly held in the grasps of the Doom that destroyed it centuries ago. HE is a GHOST.  Vaedar's very existence ought to be proof of what he has to say but undoubtedly, the young man will need much more than just words to prove his worth and back his claims. However, he must be smart in the way he does this for in his desperation, he might just loose what little value he has to give in exchange for what he wants: recognition, purpose, power—and most importantly, the freedom for them. 

Having reached the now liberated slaver city, the valyrian is bowing before the Targaryen siblings, his silver-gold locks framing his hair and his lips parting to speak only when permitted to. Straightening again, violet gaze swiftly lands on the younger woman and then on her brother, before respectfully lowering it.

HIS ELATION COULD only last so long, the sound of applause undercut by the bitter hissings of the few, though  N O N E  quite so loud as the Targaryen’s, the always temperamental brother even knocking half filled mugs of ale to the ground while making his exit. while his name had been thrown into the mix, by HIMSELF almost certainly, viserys had received a  m e a g e r  amount of votes to put it lightly. when the furious knocks echoed throughout his new chambers, jon had NO DOUBT who was behind the door, though he did not have to wait to answer to find out, the silver-haired self described ‘prince’ bursting into the room uninvited.

send🌌 positivity meme // accepting

♔ KING OF DRAGONS // MOTHER // @rhaclla

Smile twitched at thin lips and long fingers brushed the back of her hand. A fleeting gesture of nothing but purest love – something he shared with precious few. These moments were what he lived for, in the mad world they’d been thrust into – kicking and screaming all in futility.

These were the good times, the ones he’d cherish, even if everything went to hell – and he half expected their plans to fail, if only by his own foul luck. 

At least, even now, there is family.  

         The doublet he was wearing was one of her own creation, and it pleased his mother to see him wear it. Not just because it was a visible reminder of her love and his heritage, but because he looked so handsome in it. In a way, it made her sad to see the red emblem it had taken her so long to stitch, but it was what he ought to wear (even if he did look so much like Rhaegar in it). "My handsome boy. Have you eaten? There's fruit in the kitchen; I picked those green fruits with the pits that your sister likes so much. And there's bread and cheese." Her own handiwork could wait, even if it would eventually fetch a fair price when she sold it. She stuck the needle into the fabric and let it down on the table beside her. "Any word from overseas today?" 

SHE CAN HARDLY BELIEVE THEY’RE REAL. Now clothed figure rests on the softened furs of the tent as the three hatchlings roam before her, their small cries prompting a smile to curve on her lips. They still didn’t entirely seem real to her; perhaps not enough to remove the pain of her lost child, or the husband whom had been taken from her. But they’re miracles of their own kind – the first dragons to be born in centuries, to the blood of Old Valyria.

She’s not sure where her mother or brother are. Of course, she had scared them by walking into the fire – she had not known that she would not burn herself alive. But she was Targaryen, and they did not fear the fire.

The small golden hatchling wound his tail around her wrist as a soft laugh spilled free, clutching that tiny body to her chest. A part of her was nervous to introduce them to her family. The other could not wait.