[ Daenerys was enjoying herself. When she'd awoken here, she hadn't expected that she'd find herself so...well, so anonymous. It was freeing, in a way, and even though she had worried sincerely about Drogon, concerned that the dragon would only cause problems among these strangers, she really needn't have worried.
Now that the dragon was fell fed, sleeping under one of the wagons, Dany stepped out to enjoy the festivities. She drank a little of the liquor, though stopped when it seared the back of her throat, and she allowed herself to clap along to some of the songs, and dance to others. The dances were strange, but unlike Dothraki celebrations, no throats were slit, and no women were stolen. It was all good natured, jovial, and it made her feel young in a way that she had never been, all of the weight and responsibility, fear and suffering, lifted from her shoulders.
Viserys was briefly forgotten. Mereen, Westeros, even for a moment Rhaego, her unborn son. She listened to the new singer, and drew closer. The lyrics were oddly melancholy; they told a story not unlike the one she knew herself; a song of rebellion and unseen desires. ]
More! [ She called, over the voices of the others, and then offered what was to her an encouraging smile, trying to imply eagerness, trying to be more polite than the shout allowed. She was listening. ]
It was a dark and stormy night!
Now that the dragon was fell fed, sleeping under one of the wagons, Dany stepped out to enjoy the festivities. She drank a little of the liquor, though stopped when it seared the back of her throat, and she allowed herself to clap along to some of the songs, and dance to others. The dances were strange, but unlike Dothraki celebrations, no throats were slit, and no women were stolen. It was all good natured, jovial, and it made her feel young in a way that she had never been, all of the weight and responsibility, fear and suffering, lifted from her shoulders.
Viserys was briefly forgotten. Mereen, Westeros, even for a moment Rhaego, her unborn son. She listened to the new singer, and drew closer. The lyrics were oddly melancholy; they told a story not unlike the one she knew herself; a song of rebellion and unseen desires. ]
More! [ She called, over the voices of the others, and then offered what was to her an encouraging smile, trying to imply eagerness, trying to be more polite than the shout allowed. She was listening. ]