Chapter 1: Dragonstone

Dragonstone.

Long before it flew the banners of the black crowned stag within the fiery heart of R'hllor it was home of the greatest dynasty Westeros had ever seen.

House Targaryen.

A House of Dragons.

A house of Kings and Queens. A house of Rogue Princes and Defiant Princesses. A house of Legendary Knights and Pious Maidens.

A house that lost everything and nearly went extinct because of the actions of two people.

A Mad King and his Silver Prince.

Luckily, two dragons survived. A young prince and his baby sister. Saved by the actions of loyal men. And while the young prince would prove to be his father's son through and through, an ailment which cost him his life. The princess would prove different.

She flourished where most would languish.

Persevered where most would give up.

Thrived where most would whither.

Her journey was a long one, filled with heartbreak and consternation. But also glory and preeminence. Starting as nothing more than a bargaining chip, a brood mare. Hardship molded her into a conqueror, a liberator.

A Queen.

Now, after spending the entirety of her young life across the Narrow Sea. She has finally returned.

To the place her ancestors fled to when a young maiden named Daenys had a powerful prophetic dream, showing the destruction of Valyria by fire.

To the place where Aegon Targaryen began to turn his dream of uniting a war-torn continent under the banner of one ruler into a reality.

To the place where she was born.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen has finally returned to Dragonstone.

However, she didn't have much time to soak in the feeling of finally being home for there was much to do.

Currently, she and most of her allies were in the Chamber of the Painted Table looking over said chamber's namesake. The Painted Table dominates the room, it is carved in the shape of Westeros and engraved with its major cities and landmarks.

They had been going over plans for close to an hour now. Barely getting anything of significance done. It was difficult to come up with anything that everyone would agree on and tempers were starting to flare.

Away from the Painted Table near the balcony, in the front of the room is Daenerys.

She stands there observing and listening to her council as they speak on which course of action they should take. She and her hand spoke briefly on a plan before meeting with her new allies, he assured her he had it under control. Although he didn't get the chance to go into great detail before the war council began. She liked what she heard of it and agreed to go along with what little she did know. Though she did ask him not to start with it as she wanted to hear the opinions of her new council on what they should do first.

She remembers Tyrion telling her that that is what his father Tywin use to do. And while she loathes the man for the crimes he committed against her family, none would deny his ability to rule. Ser Barristan once told her while her father was the one who sat on the Iron Throne, it was Tywin who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms during his time as Hand.

During that time Westeros prospered.

If she is to become the greatest Queen Westeros has ever seen she must learn from those that ruled before her. However, it was difficult to just sit back and listen when all they did was bicker like children and take subtle shots at one another. Hearing Lady Olenna make another cutting, though amusing, remark about one of the sand snakes Daenerys lets out a small huff through her nose. Glancing slightly behind her to look at her trusted knight and Lord Commander of her Queensguard the Legendary Ser Barristan Selmy.

Nicknamed Barristan the Bold for his actions at the age of 10 when he wore borrowed armor to appear as a mystery knight in a tourney. He is a knight and man of great acclaim, who's accomplishments overshadow any before him.

Even now far past his prime, at an advanced age he is still one of, if not the greatest swordsman in all the seven kingdoms. As he looks back at his Queen his face remains stoic and solemn, though his eyes hold a subtle amusement in them.

He knows he is of little help here, planning a war. While a deadly warrior, perhaps the deadliest in history, and a skilled commander he isn't much for the logistical aspects of it all. Not to mention, he can only imagine the sharp response the Queen of Thorns has ready to throw his way should he speak his mind. She was nearly a decade older than him and her mind and tongue were both still sharper than Valyrian Steel.

Seeing the amusement in his eyes Daenerys' own eyes narrow slightly. She can't quite stop the smirk from appearing on her face but quickly removes it before turning her eyes back to her allies. She feels she's heard enough and prepares to take control of the conversation.

"If you want the Iron Throne, take it. We have an army, a fleet and three dragons. We should hit King's Landing now, hard, with everything we have. The city will fall within a day." Spoke Yara Greyjoy.

Yara Greyjoy is a fierce woman who was raised as the heiress of the Iron Islands since her two older brothers were killed in the Iron Island's failed rebellion and her younger brother Theon was taken as a ward to discourage any further action from her father. After the assassination of her father, Yara laid claim to the Iron Islands, but when the ironborn chose her uncle Euron, who murdered her father Balon, as their next king, she and Theon fled with a portion of the Iron Fleet and their loyal followers. They went to Meereen and allied with Daenerys, forsaking the reaving and raping ways of old in order to take back what is rightfully hers.

"If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms." Countered Tyrion Lannister, her Hand of the Queen. He was a clever man who uses his wit and intellect to overcome the prejudice he faces for being a dwarf.

"It's called war. If you don't have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding." Snapped Ellaria Sand. Ellaria was their Dornish ally. While Daenerys is not sure if she is truly the Princess of Dorne or not it doesn't matter for she has pledged the Martell army and Dorne's fleet to their cause.

"We know how you wage war. We don't poison little girls here." Tyrion responded. A serious look on his face as he all but glares at Ellaria and continues, his voice filled with emotion.

"Myrcella was innocent."

"She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannisters." Ellaria bites back. Venom in her eyes as she stares back at Tyrion. "My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you-

"That's enough!" Daenerys cuts in, tired of listening to their bickering.

"Lord Tyrion is Hand of the Queen, you will treat him with respect." She commands, looking Ellaria dead in the eyes as she walks forward and leans slightly on the Painted Table in front of her.

"I am not here to be Queen of the ashes." She says, looking into the eyes of everyone around her.

"That's very nice to hear." Sounds off the old venerable voice of Olenna Tyrell. She is Lady of Highgarden and perhaps Daenerys' most important ally. She is an elderly woman who has been a master of court politics, plotting and intrigue par excellence throughout her life. More famously known as the Queen of Thorns for her cutting, barbed comments and House Tyrell's sigil being a Rose.

"Of course, I can't remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter." She continues, shaking her head slightly.

"The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they're all just children, really. They won't obey you...unless they fear you." She finishes her thought looking at her new Queen.

Daenerys stares back, nodding her head. "I'm grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your counsel." She begins before looking at all of her new allies.

"I'm grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King's Landing. We will not attack King's Landing." She finishes strongly, looking into the eyes of The Lady of the Reach.

"Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?" Replies the Queen of Thorns. "By asking nicely?" She finishes showcasing, once again, that sarcastic tongue she is famous for.

Daenerys glances at her Hand before responding "We will lay siege to the capital surrounding the city on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her armies or the people." She finishes before stepping back and looking to Tyrion, allowing her Hand to speak of his plan.

____________________________________________________________________________

While the Dragon Queen and her council speak of their plans for war, her new Master of Whispers, Varys, is currently in one of the many hidden passages of Dragonstone reading a letter of great interest he just received from one of his little birds in the south.

Lord Varys or simply Varys as he prefers to be called, is a dangerous man. Not for his martial prowess, nor his name or money.

But because of knowledge. Or rather his ability to obtain it.

Secrets are Varys's trade, and his skill at acquiring them has earned him a reputation for being seemingly omniscient. If you have a dirty little secret there is a good chance that Varys knows it.

Nicknamed The Spider, he has an intricate web of spies at his disposal known as his little birds. They are made up of lowborn orphan children who are taught to read and write.

One of those little birds it seems has stumbled upon something major involving the hierarchy in Dorne. It seems the lords of the south here not happy with a bastard woman and her kinslaying children as their leaders.

Surprising I know.

The most powerful houses in Dorne met in Sunspear recently to discuss who should take over Dorne with House Martell seemingly extinct. Even more shocking and the part that truly intrigues him the most is who was chosen.

The Mourning Star. The Sword of the Morning. The Hero of the StepStones.

Ser Rhevan Dayne.

A man thought dead. He disappeared 4 years ago along with Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne, and hasn't been heard from since.

Until now it seems.

The son of Ashara Dayne.

His father unknown. Even Varys, for as long as his webs reach, couldn't figure out the identity of the man. All he was able to find out is that the man is of Valyrian descent. Whether he is from behind the Black Walls of Volantis or the beautiful Island city of Elyria or even some pillow slave from Lys that caught the lady's eye on a trip there, no one knows.

What is known is that Rhevan Dayne before his disappearance was regarded by most as the greatest warrior in Westeros. Not surprising given the fact that he earned the right to wield the legendary sword Dawn. His prowess with a blade is often compared to that of his legendary uncle Arthur Dayne.

He was beloved throughout the Seven Kingdoms, especially in Dorne, for his chivalry, bravery, and high moral fiber. The boy had high expectations for himself wanting to be just like his famous uncle and most would agree that he has met if not exceed those expectations.

So, it is no surprise that he was chosen as the new Prince of Dorne with no more Martells alive to claim the title. The surprise is that he's alive at all.

Last Varys heard, the man was in Essos then he was not heard from again. A common thing, Essos is as large as it is dangerous. From Dothraki, to fanatical religious zealots, to centuries old warlocks, to the slavers, Varys can go on and on about the perils of Essos he knows them intimately. If one is not careful they can easily lose their life or freedom 'or their cock' in an instant. Varys assumed Rhevan suffered the same fate as many others before him and that House Dayne had lost its one of a kind ancestral blade.

Though it would seem that is not the case.

From what his little birds have told him it was all but decided by the High Lords that Anders Yronwood would take over Dorne. That was until Ser Rhevan made his appearance.

According to the letter, the meeting hall went dead silent as he walked through the doors flanked by his two closest childhood friends Andrey Dalt and Daemon Sand. Even Edric Dayne, the young lord of House Dayne, was shocked to see his older cousin alive and well.

He demanded to know what was going on and what happened to House Martell. Once the former ruling house's fate was explained to him it is said he looked ready to slaughter every lord in there saying they should've captured the kinslayers immediately and have them thrown in the snake pits.

Apparently, their dornish allies are not as innocent in the case of the sudden deaths of Doran and his heir as they wanted to seem.

Once Rhevan calmed, he told them all he would be taking the throne for himself and he would get revenge on the bastards for their actions. Lord Yronwood, understandably wroth, challenged The Mourning Star since he was close to being named High King of Dorne like his family was back before Nymeria's War. The duel went as expected The Sword of The Morning proving he hasn't lost a step in his absence.

He was named Prince of Dorne afterwards.

Varys was sure there was more to the story than that, but his little birds can only put so much information on the small piece of paper. Well he would apparently get his chance to learn the full story from the source himself. The new Prince of Dorne was on his way to Dragonstone.

He got this letter from his little birds in the Stormlands; he had no doubt this information was a bit delayed.

Which means-

Varys snaps his head up quickly as he hears quick, light footfalls coming towards him. It's one of his little birds. The same one who handed him the letter in his hand. He is panting heavily looking as though he has just run around the entire island.

"What is it?" Varys asks the panting child. The child looks up at Varys, finally seeming to have caught his wind. He starts to point frantically towards the opening that leads outside the hidden cavern in the direction of the beach front.

"There is something on the beachfront?" Varys questioned.

Varys is sure now that he knows what's out there. Years of dealing with his little birds has helped him be able to understand their silent form of communication quite well. The child nods his head. Making shapes with his hands. Before putting up 1 finger.

"One ship" Varys says more to himself than the child. He looks down at the child and smiles before pulling out a piece of rock candy wrapped in paper from his pocket.

"Good job, I'll be headed there now." Varys tells the child handing him the candy with a pat on the head before quickly making his way to the beach front to greet their newest guests.

'I hope I can convince him to join our cause. Having him on our side will help our cause greatly. I just hope Her Grace hasn't gotten attached to those Sand Snakes.' He thinks before stepping through the opening.

There, not far from the beach itself he sees the ship. While the ship itself is nothing special, it's the sigil on the sail that catches the spider's attention.

A white sword and falling star crossed on lilac.

The Prince of Dorne has arrived.

Varys takes a deep breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He puts his simpering smile on his face and heads towards the ship. This is a needed ally. Having Dorne is imperative to their war efforts. Not to mention having The Sword of the Morning on their side would be a great help for getting the lords who's loyalties are still undecided to join their side.

As he makes it to the beach front, he sees a small row boat on its way to shore. It's holding three men. If Varys had any doubts on the validity of the information given to him before then they were put to rest as he looks at the man sitting in the middle of the boat as it pulls into shore.

As the three men step up to him Varys begins his attempted swaying. "Welcome to Dragonstone My Prince. While your appearance is unexpected, it is certainly most welcome." Varys simpers in his sweetest voice as he speaks to the man in the middle, head down bowing in deference.

He hears a scoff come from the man to the Prince's right. And a short chuckle came from the man to his left.

"Allow me to take you to my Queen. She and the rest of our allies are currently holding a war council. I was on the way there when I noticed your arrival." He continued, head still down. Still, receiving no reply. He looks up to see the Prince looking directly at him.

His face showing no signs of what he's thinking.

Varys stares back. Knowing he should look away. He's played this game for a long time. He knows how to interact with Lords, he's an expert at it.

But he can't.

Varys has seen Ashara Dayne before. She was a sister in all but blood to Princess Elia, so she spent a lot of time in the Red Keep back when it was still a dragon's den. She was known as the most beautiful woman in Westeros back when she still lived. While he has never lusted over a woman in his life. Even he could not help but be entranced by the allure of the dornish maiden.

But it was not her flawless light olive skin, nor her blindingly white smile that kept his attention. Not even her angelic voice that always had a slightly husky tilt to it. Her long legs that seemed to go on far miles, while incredible to some, did not make Varys take a second glance. It was not her supple curves, that had women green with envy and men groveling at her feet, that caught Varys like fish on a hook.

No.

It was her eyes.

An intense purple that once you gazed upon them you felt as though all of your thoughts were laid bare before her.

A haunting violet color. Almost hypnotic in nature.

As though with one glance she can put you under a spell that would make one lose their sense of self. Lost in the abyss for what felt like an eternity. Until she decides to break eye contact with you.

Yes. It was her eyes.

Those eyes, that is what Varys truly remembers most of the Ashara Dayne.

Eyes that she passed on to her only child.

While at first glance one might not think so, simply because of the obvious. They aren't the same color.

While hers was violet.

His is gold.

Not a bright gold like that of the Lannister Lion.

Not beaten gold like that of a golden dragon.

Not a soft gold like that of the silks worn by Lyseni pleasure slaves.

No. His was dark gold. Closer to amber than yellow.

Like a flame contained within his iris. Truly a stunning sight.

So much so, that Varys couldn't look away. Lost in the mini suns contained within his eye sockets.

Melting away all of the mummery. Burning through all of the many layers of sickly sweet smiles, simpering words, faux-coy looks.

Those eyes.

They see the true you whether you want them to or not. And no matter how hard you try. You can't look away.

Just like his mother.

Then suddenly, like the snap of a finger, the spell was broken. Their staring contest lasted no longer than 5 seconds in reality, but to the spider it felt a lifetime.

The Prince looked up toward the towering castle made of black stone and spoke for the first time.

"Lead the way." he said simply, voice deep but smooth. Strong but soft. Sensual in the way nearly all the dornish people sound with their accent adding a bit extra something to the common tongue.

"Of course. Right this way." Varys responded before turning around, leading them. Hoping that they didn't catch the very slight waver in his voice when he spoke. He took slow, silent deep breaths in order to collect himself as they moved toward the steps to the main keep.

"I'll admit, I'm curious about your sudden reappearance your grace." He begins leadingly, as they head up the stairs that lead to the main keep.

____________________________________________________________________________

"For decades, House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros." Lord Tyrion begins, while grabbing the Unsullied war piece and walking around the Painted Table toward the Westerlands.

"And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail for the Rock, and take it." He finishes while knocking over the wooden Lannister Lion. All parties in the chamber look at each other for a moment while Tyrion walks to the front of the Table to stand next to their Queen.

Daenerys stands at the head, posture straight, hands clasped in front of her. She look to her allies one by one. "Do I have your support?" She asks. Looking at her allies, waiting on their words.

"You have mi-" Yara begins before being cut off by the sound of the chamber doors. Walking in is Varys.

He looks around the room a bit before his eyes land on Ellaria and the sand snakes. He doesn't say anything, only puts that simpering smile back on his face before looking at his Queen, head down.

"Apologies for my tardiness, my queen. I received an urgent message from one of my little birds." He begins, before pulling a small piece of paper out of his sleeve.

"It would seem the landscape of Westeros has shifted." The spider starts, eyes slowly moving to the olive skinned ladies to his right. "The high lords of Dorne have met in secret at Sunspear. And they have chosen a new ruler."

"What?" Ellaria Sand calls out. Shock on her face and in her voice. As all eyes turn to her. Different expressions on each face that looks her way.

"Apparently, they did not approve of you killing their liege and his heir before usurping the crown." Varys explains. Amusement clear in his face. "They have named the four of you kinslayers and refuse to recognize you as their Princess."

The eyes of everyone in the chamber now wide with shock. Yara steps away from Dornish ladies, body tense, as though they were about to make a move against her.

"Lies!" Obara Sand states aggressively. "Doran and Trystane were poisoned by their enemies, not by us." She looks to Tyrion as though to blame him for the crime.

"Their enemies. Perhaps that list includes you four." Tyrion says, still standing next to his Queen. "Your thirst for vengeance for the perceived murder of the Red Viper is widely known." He continues looking directly at Ellaria. "As widely known as Prince Doran's passivity." He finishes, as Olenna Tyrell makes her sharp tongue known.

"I wouldn't put it past you lot. You dornish are a deceitful bunch. Add that with your bastard blood an-"

"Watch your tongue you old, saggy bitch before you lose it!" Tyene Sand cuts, before taking a step toward Olenna's seat. Ser Barristan grips his sword looking ready to intervene as does Grey Worm moving in front of Missandei, who's has moved closer to her queen, shifting his spear.

"Enough!" Daenerys' authoritative voice echoes through the chamber. Everything stopping. All of the occupants turning to her, expressions diverse. All silent, waiting for her to speak. Things were finally moving forward, a plan of attack nearly finalized, before her Master of Whispers made his appearance. Shaking everything up. Speaking of..

"Continue Lord Varys." She speaks, eyes not on him but staring directly at the dornish ladies. Daring them to interrupt again. She doesn't know if these claims of kinslaying are true, but if they are...

"Thank you my queen, but I am no lord" Varys simpers lightly before he starts up again.

"Lord Anders Yronwood was going to be chosen.." Varys starts, before hearing a loud scoff coming from the mouth of Nymeria Sand. Daenerys' eyes pin her with a heated glance. Making her clamp her mouth shut, quickly putting her head down.

"But another showed up right before he was crowned and made a claim to the throne." Varys continues, pausing, as though for dramatic effect. Daenerys' eyes now turn to him. Starting to lose her patience with him. She is losing an important ally and he is acting as though this is a game.

"Well...Anytime now spider. Tell us who the dornish dunces have chosen. I'm growing stiff from sitting here for this long. Not that you would know anything about being stiff." The Lady of the Reach cuts.

Daenerys is not the only one at her wits end it seems. She doesn't quite know if she is about to lightly chide the Lady for her rude words or agree with her, but Varys speaks first. Finally speaking the name.

"They have chosen Ser Rhevan Dayne." He announces, his face finally free of that annoying faux demure look. Now more serious.

While to Daenerys the name held little meaning. To would seem that was not the case for everyone else in the room. For the moment Varys finished the final syllable of the name. The atmosphere of the room shifted.

A new tension was added to the already tense chamber. It smothered the previous tension that cloaked the room like a heavy woolen blanket.

As though the name itself was a spell. One that tilted the very world on its axis.

No one spoke. The only thing heard was sharp intakes of breath and shaky exhales.

Surprisingly, one coming from close behind her.

She looks over her left shoulder to examine her faithful knight. She was astonished with what she saw.

His face, normally calm and stoic, almost solemn in nature, had shifted. His jaw, normally closed shut with a hard edge to it, was unhinged, agape. His eyes, normally alert and collected, never letting anything get past them. Were wide, shock and disbelief evident in his blue irises. But those were not the most preeminent emotions.

Before she can make out which emotions it is that she sees in his gaze, someone finally broke the heavy silence.

"Impossible." One word. Whispered lightly.

If not for the complete silence of the chamber, it would have been lost in the wind. Never reaching anyone's ears to be heard.

Daenerys turns to the speaker and her light purple eyes widen a touch at the site before her.

Ellaria Sand looks as though she's seen a ghost. Eyes wide with fear, skin taking an almost ashen hue, hands shaking lightly. It is as though she had suddenly fallen ill.

A look she shares with the rest of her brood. All three of the Sand Snakes look similar to their leader. As though death itself was standing in front of them. Ready to pluck their lives from existence.

"I assure you, I speak the truth my lady. I have confirmed this myself." Her spymaster says, looking as though he's having the time of his life seeing the sand's reaction.

"And just how have you managed to confirm this?" Her Hand speaks, for the first time in a while. Surprising, considering his love for words. "Is that why it took you so long to join us? You were in Dorne confirming this. Quite the quick trip I must say. Did you take her grace's dragons?" Tyrion japes, seemingly trying to ease the tension that continues building with an injection of humor.

She turns her head to him with a raised eyebrow as Varys titters.

"No my Lord Hand." He starts, as he looks to Tyrion, an almost forced looking demure smile that lacks its usual flair makes its way on his face.

"The new Prince informed me himself. Personally."

Silence. A moment passes. Then another.

By now Daenerys is starting to get tired of this nearly suffocating pressure that has built in the chamber. Not to mention, they have yet to finalize their battle plans and every moment they waste is another that Cersei wins.

"So, he is here." Daenerys' speaks out, voice strong, ready to get to the bottom of this.

"He is Your Grace." The spider responds bowing his head as he continues, "He is in the Throne room with two of his companions as we speak."

For a moment, she thought to greet him in the throne room as a show of her power. But brushed the thought off, he was already there it wouldn't have the same effect.

Also, she would be going to him.

She was The Queen.

He would come to her.

"Go and get him. Bring him here." As she says this her dornish allies head snap to her swiftly.

"At once my queen." Varys replies before bowing slightly and turning to complete his task.

"Just him, Lord Varys. Have his companions wait in the throne room." She adds, hoping that will placate the women for now. It doesn't not.

"Of course my queen." He responds while walking out the door, closing it behind him.

"Your grace, this man is a usurper! Trying to take what doesn't belong to him. Surely you understand. You must imprison him." Ellaria pleads, voice wavering slightly. Hoping to appeal to her through a supposed shared plight.

"Varys said all of the high lords of Dorne have chosen him as their Prince. If anyone is the usurper it is you." Tyrion shoots back, taking an untold amount of joy in the killer of his niece's new precarious predicament.

In the corner of her eye, she sees her bold knight nodding his head in agreement with her Hand. She turns to her head his way eyeing him curiously. Her normally stoic protector has shown an unusual amount of emotion in these past few minutes.

'Ever since Varys spoke that name. Does he know this Rhevan Dayne?' she wonders, as she is about to speak her question to him, she is cut off by the venomous words of the Viper's eldest daughter.

"Be silent imp. Mind your own business, less you find the point of my spear in your throat." Obara growls.

Dany's eyes narrow at the threat made to her hand. She has had enough of the sand snake's blatant disregard of her demand to respect her hand.

"My, aren't you all tense. If you have done nothing wrong then why do you all look ready to jump from the balcony?" The Queen of Thrones ponders. She has been silent for a while, choosing to observe silently instead of speak. Until now.

"Maybe I should throw you over it instead, you shriveled up old b-"

Nymeria doesn't get the chance to finish her sentence as the door opens and Varys walks in.

He is not alone.

A man walks in with him.

He's wearing a finely made cream colored tunic. The top strings loose, showing off a small bit of his defined chest. He has a thin silver necklace around his neck.

He has what looks like, leather gauntlets on his arms. Stopping about mid forearm. The leather of the gauntlet covering his palms but leaving his fingers free.

Sword on his belt, that apparently wasn't taken away by her guards. It's crossguard is a beautiful silver color. A finely crafted star-shape on its pommel.

'Dawn' She thinks, now knowing the reason it wasn't taken. No doubt he refused to be parted with his family's legendary ancestral blade.

He wore simple brown traveling trousers and boots to finish his look.

He is tall. Taller than her white knight beside her by at least half a head.

He is broad-shouldered. Powerful muscles coiled tightly under his skin. Having the build of a man who has spent the entirety of his life being a warrior.

His skin is a dusky color. Perhaps a shade or two darker than that of the wide eyed Ellaria to her left.

His hair long, past shoulder length. An inky black color with a small silver streak going through it. Separated into two braids starting from the top of his head.

His ears are perhaps his most normal features. Though they have small golden hoops pierced into his detached earlobes.

His chiseled jaw is covered by a medium length beard. The same deep black as the hair on his head.

High cheekbones and a straight aquiline nose, with a small gem of some sort on top of his left nostril, highlights his face. Giving it an almost inhuman appeal. Along with a scar that starts just above his right eyebrow and stretches down to just below his cheekbone about even with the end of his nose. It goes through his eye.

His eyes.

She is sure she has seen such a color before, but she can't quite recall where.

Almost the color of fire, though with a golden hue.

They appear to have a light glow. But instead of brightening them, as things tend to do when they glow, it seems to darken them.

Giving them an almost haunting quality.

As he stands next to her spymaster. The chamber quieted to a hush. He looks around slowly.

Observing everyone around him. His face not changing as he looks into the eyes of every soul in the room one by one.

From Lady Olenna, to Grey Worm, to Missandei.

His eyes narrow slightly as he gazes at her Hand.

Though it was only for an instant as his eyes move to hers. He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement. No doubt recognizing her Valyrian features and knowing who she is instantly. His face though still unchanged.

That is until he looks slightly behind her. It's the first show of any emotion she has seen from him.

His eyes widen lightly. And seem to almost change colors, illuminating a bit, giving them a seemingly translucent look.

It was mesmerizing.

His full lips quirk up marginally. As if wishing to go into a full blown grin.

But then in an instant it is gone, as he looks away from Ser Barristan.

Back to that emotionless mask.

He turns his eyes to the Greyjoys only briefly before they leave them.

Once his eyes finally reach the dornish ladies, she sees his mask break once again.

His sculpted jaw clenches tightly. His mouth shifts from a straight line into a deep scowl. His brows lower, as his eyes narrow into near slits, a deep glare overtaking his feature.

His eyes.

She has seen them look as if fire turned gold when he first arrived. She has seen them lighten into a translucent hue, as though if you stare into them hard enough you can see into his mind, when he looked upon her stalworth bodyguard.

But as she looks at them now, filled with pure anger, she thinks this may be their most gorgeous color.

Dark.

So much so, that were the chamber not alight from the sun shining behind her through the balcony, she would swear they were black. Luckily, enveloped in the rays of the midday sun as they were. She can see them in all their glory.

Red.

Not a regular shade of the color though. It is tinged like the life liquid that runs through every living being's veins.

A deep red that seems to drown any other color that clashes with it.

The color of the Three-Headed Dragon of House Targaryen.

Blood Red.

His attention was not on her, but she couldn't look away.

If she were to look upon whom his focus was on, she imagined she would see them on their knees.

Groveling.

Begging for mercy she doubts he would give. Unable to withstand the sheer intensity, the malevolence, the vitriol present in those eyes.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't look away.

It felt as though hours had passed before she was snapped out of her trance by the sound of her spymaster clearing his throat.

"Your grace." He says, looking back at her with calculating eyes.

"May I introduce, Ser Rhevan Dayne. The Sword of the Morning. The new ruling Prince of Dorne." He finishes, eyes still fixed on her.

While her's shifts back to the man next to him. Who's attention is now on her. His eyes back to their neutral haunting gold.

As though the blood red tinge they held moments ago was only a trick of the light.

Forgetting herself for a moment, she fixes her mouth to respond, but she hears Missandei shuffle forward and inhale.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains." Missandei announces proudly.

"A pleasure, your Grace." he says simply. Speaking his first words in her presence with a slight bow of his head. His voice deep, with a light dornish drawl. Not unlike that of the sand snakes he was just glaring death at.

"The pleasure is all mine Prince Rhevan." She begins, as she sees his eyebrow quirk up a bit and his eyes lighten a smidge at her use of his new title. She tries to ignore it and continues...