Daenerys Targaryen Artwork Novels & Stories

Hearing it spoken in the open air above the Atlantic gave it a different quality. Permanent was the word she kept arriving at. Not ending. Permanent. The crown of the Vael bloodline was a physical object smaller than she'd expected, old metal worn smooth by time, carrying nothing theatrical. Seren placed it on Caspian's head with the precise care of someone who had done this for three hundred years and understood that the object was less significant than the moment. He became, in that moment, what he had been becoming for a very long time. She watched it happen.

Then he gave a slow nod to his men. He looked at Sergio with unbridled hatred. "This isn't over, not by a long short. I will be back to claim what is mine." One by one, they backed off. Fading into smoke. Into retreat. ************************************************** The silence that followed was deafening. Rosana stood alone in the center of the destroyed hallway, her dress streaked with soot and blood. A shard of broken mirror leaned against the wall nearby, reflecting pieces of her—sharp, splintered, unrecognizable.

I turned around to see a female roughly 5'5 with black hair, a male around 7ft with dirty blonde hair, and Jayce as well. "What a wonderful performance to turn up to. You definitely don't take disrespect lightly, do you, Sutton Nightshade?" The female says "Who are you? What do you want? And what the fuck are you up to, Jayce, you useless idiot?" I snapped. "Sorry how rude of me, I am Bellatrix Nevermore. Next to me is Ragnar Stonemountain. You all have a choice to make. Join Ragnar and help him to avenge his clan for what your ancestor did or we kill you all. Join us and destroy the one is called Serenity. What will your choice be?" Bellatrix says.

“She was my friend before I met you. If you wanted to be loved by me, having good chemistry with her would be the best. But, you are the worst bully that I know in this school, and yet you expect me to fall for a woman like you. Who does that?” “Even the Alpha Prince loved her sister who bullied her worst….” Ava uttered, sounding pitifully. Tyrion smirked. “Do I look like the Alpha Prince? What if you approach her sister and convince her to stop bullying Eden…..would you die?” That was unexpected of Tyrion. The whole student was watching, and yet he couldn't control his anger before them. If this reaches the Alpha King or even to Prince Geralt, he might be expelled from his duty as the Princ

I walked away while he was confused. “Nirvana, what girlfriend are you talking about?” This time, he managed to hold my arm before I could bolt out. “How would I know? Maybe your number eight, or is it twelve?” I shot him a death glare. “I don’t date. I don’t have a girlfriend. What does she look like?” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. Daenerys Targaryen?” “Huh.” A slight curve appeared on his lips, his eyes dancing with humor. “Tall, gray eyes, silver blonde hair, looks like a princess?”

By the time Arya finished, her hands were smeared with paint. She looked at her work and giggled. Then she looked over at Daxiel and exclaimed, "Done!" Daxiel had finished some time ago and had only been waiting for her. He turned his canvas around to face her. The moment Arya saw the painting, she gasped. "What?" It was a portrait of her sitting on a bed of white lilies. Arya hurried over and squatted in front of the canvas. Seeing it up close, she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping as she admired the masterpiece.

Oh this bastard, he made me almost lost my heartbeats. Actually, I don't mind being in this moment, it's just that the problem is the fact that I haven't showered in days and I'm sure I must look terrible right now. For a moment we let this silence continue, creating various questions in my mind why Arthur was acting this melancholy. “You alright?” I ventured to ask him. He didn’t answer. His eyes stare at mine, His two eyes flashed a shady and piercing gaze which made me not move from my position who was also looking at him.

The sky was a sheet of iron, and the air hung heavy with salt and smoke. Bianca stood before the mirror in her private chamber, fastening the last piece of her new armor a matte-black uniform trimmed in crimson silk. The crest of the serpent burned faintly across her shoulder. A queen in mourning. A commander in hell. Her hair was braided back, a single silver pin anchoring it a dagger disguised as an ornament. Matteo entered without knocking. He paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. “You look like something carved from vengeance,” he said softly.

he suggested, keeping his smile while presenting a new book to her. "What is that? What story does it have?" Ruby asked, finally looking at his direction instead of her window. "It's a compilation of dozens of stories about fantastic fighter women. Like Atalanta who never lost a race even to the fastest men and the first to land a hit on the monstrous boar, or Princess Merida the Brave who saved her own mother from a witch's curse. There's also about Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen who started as a woman sold by her own brother to a barbarian Horse Lord but when he died she picked herself up. She built an army of her own, conquered kingdoms, freed slaves, and repelled evil forces

Dragging her sturdy gaze away from the bed, she quickly glanced around the enclosed space once more, and smiled when she saw a soft, comfy small couch, a shelf for books, a wooden but gorgeous wardrobe that would supposedly house her clothes, not that she had any, and some realistic paintings hanging around. Brielle saw up to four paintings in the room, and based on the similarities of the intricately designed flower art, to the way they had been arranged, and also recalling that she had seen some framed paintings back at the storage too, where they had first been kept in, she could only guess that Lord Darius was probably an arts person. He was an artist. He disliked furniture. He had many