Targaryen's reborn

The gods and their never ending stupid jokes

The new Targaryen Empire.

The council room was buzzing with tension as Daenerys, Daemon, and Diaaro gathered to discuss the pressing issue of defense. The room was filled with a mix of skepticism and concern, for not all of her councilmen believed her warnings about the looming threat of the White Walkers.

Daenerys stood tall, her violet eyes flashing with determination. She knew what she had seen beyond the Wall, and she was adamant that they must prepare for the impending doom. "I assure you, my lords and ladies, the White Walkers are real, and they are coming. We must strengthen our defenses or risk being swept away in the icy tide of their army."

Daemon, ever the loyal supporter, spoke up in agreement. "My Empress speaks the truth. I have seen the Wall myself, and I know the dangers that lie beyond. We must not underestimate the power of the undead."

Diaaro, however, remained unconvinced. "My dear Empress, while I respect your authority, I can not help but feel that your fears may be exaggerated. Are we to divert our resources and soldiers based on mere speculation?"

Diaaro remained unconvinced, his skepticism evident in his voice. "My dear Empress, while I respect your authority, I can't help but feel that your fears may be exaggerated. Are we to divert our resources and soldiers based on mere speculation?"

Daenerys understood his reservations, but she knew the stakes were too high to ignore the impending danger. "I understand your caution, Diaaro, but this is no mere speculation. I have seen the White Walkers with my own eyes, and I have witnessed the devastation they can cause. We can not afford to ignore this threat for the sake of our people and our future."

Diaaro sighed, his loyalty to Daenerys battling his uncertainty. "My empress, if you truly believe this is the course we must take, then I will stand by your side. However, I implore you to exercise caution. We can not afford to weaken our defenses against other potential enemies."

Daenerys nodded, acknowledging Diaaro's wisdom. "I appreciate your counsel,  We shall proceed carefully, but we must not forget the danger that looms beyond the wall. The Long Winter is coming, and we must be prepared."

Daenerys turned to Missandei, her trusted advisor, and inquired, "How are things on your end?"

Missandei, poised and efficient, responded, "Everything is fine. The caves are prepared, and all necessary arrangements have been made."

Daenerys then addressed Ser Davos, her gaze probing. "What about the ships?"

Ser Davos, ever loyal, stated with conviction, "Everything is ready, Your Majesty. We await your command."

As they discussed their plans, one of Daenerys's handmaidens approached and whispered words into her ear, eliciting a smile from the Empress. Turning to her council members, Daenerys revealed, "Well, it seems I don't need to explain to you as you will see it for yourself. Melisandre, can you gather the people in the fighting pit?"

Melisandre, her red robes billowing, rose and bowed before her Empress. "It shall be done, my Empress."

As the council dispersed, a palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air. Whatever the handmaiden had revealed to Daenerys seemed to hold great significance, a promise of a pivotal event that would soon unfold in the fighting pit before the gathered masses.

Unknown tarven.

The dimly lit tavern bustled with chatter as a short, red-haired girl methodically wiped the tables with a damp cloth. Her gaze, sharp and observant, swept across the room, taking in the array of patrons.

As she approached one particular table, she noticed that some of the men had an intriguing sigil marked on their hands. Curiosity piqued, and she decided to engage them. "I am sorry to disturb you, good ser," she began, her voice soft and inquisitive, "but may I inquire about the marking on your hand? It's very beautiful."