I will not be queen of the ashes. I am not my father. I am not my father.
The union of Ice and Fire, Dragon and Wolf.
A Targaryen alone in this world is a terrible thing. A pet alone in this world is even worse! So the endgame is of Drogon and Ghost frolicking somewhere near the waterfall beyond the wall or in a tropical forest far far away from Westeroes while their Mommy and Daddy are doing what Targaryens are known for making out.
No, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you see?
ARYA/GENDRY — les revenants au
He heard Arya’s delicate footfalls as she made her way down the stairs, avoiding the creaking steps that always gave her brothers away. If he weren’t so attuned to her she’d be all but silent.
“Arry, I’m using your mustard.” A floorboard squeaked. Gendry turned, piece of bread half-coated in mustard in one hand and bottle of mustard in the other, and nearly cried out at the sight of the Stark ghost standing in the Stark kitchen.
“Gendry,” the girl breathed.
“Lady Stark.” She took a step back. “Lady Lyanna.”
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Before she became fire, she was water.
Quenching the thirst of every dying creature.
She gave and she gave
Until she turned from sea to desert.
But instead of dying of the heat,
The sadness,
the heartache,
she took all of her pain
and from her own ashes
she became fire.
From the ashes she became - Nikita Gill