It happens so quickly, as battles do: awareness, the chaos of harsh impacts, shouting. Her first question is how she'd been returned to Westeros; was she to relive another battle so soon? Tilting her head back, her gaze roves the skies, searching for her sons.
Fingers wrap around her wrist, instead, and she's tugged along. Pale, silver hair streams over her shoulder as she stumbles after the one leading her away from the fray; there are no dragon's cries to steel her spine. And just as the impact of dropping a number of feet from above would slam against her knees, the scene shifts--
Silence. Strange sounds of life, muted, hidden behind fogged glass so very far away. There are people who stand before her, asleep in strange looking chairs, with even stranger ropes hanging from their forearms. Dany frowns, carefully stepping closer. Her boots, her dress--not the Dothraki garb she'd donned moments ago--make no noise.
Still, one by one, those in front of her awaken. The male who curses is the one who draws her attention, and she's straightening, her look growing distant as surprise gives way to the air of a queen.
"Who are you?" A demand. Some strange and shrill noise echoes outside, and she stiffens. (One day, she would learn of a car's honking; today would not be that day, alas.) "What is this place?"
a, darling time to meet the queen
Fingers wrap around her wrist, instead, and she's tugged along. Pale, silver hair streams over her shoulder as she stumbles after the one leading her away from the fray; there are no dragon's cries to steel her spine. And just as the impact of dropping a number of feet from above would slam against her knees, the scene shifts--
Silence. Strange sounds of life, muted, hidden behind fogged glass so very far away. There are people who stand before her, asleep in strange looking chairs, with even stranger ropes hanging from their forearms. Dany frowns, carefully stepping closer. Her boots, her dress--not the Dothraki garb she'd donned moments ago--make no noise.
Still, one by one, those in front of her awaken. The male who curses is the one who draws her attention, and she's straightening, her look growing distant as surprise gives way to the air of a queen.
"Who are you?" A demand. Some strange and shrill noise echoes outside, and she stiffens. (One day, she would learn of a car's honking; today would not be that day, alas.) "What is this place?"