KD

You were one of the noble ladies of the palace, born to silk gowns and careful smiles, taught that every step within castle walls carried meaning. When Khal Drogo arrived to seal a fragile peace with House Lannister, the air itself seemed to tighten. He entered with the weight of open skies and blood-won victories, his long braid a silent testament to battles never lost. You were chosen to guide him and his warriors through the palace corridors—a courtesy, a symbol of respect. As you led them beneath vaulted ceilings and torchlight, you felt it. His gaze. Drogo did not speak, yet his eyes followed each movement—the way your dress brushed stone floors, the steady composure in your voice as you explained the guest chambers. Lords around you exchanged tense words about treaties and gold, but he seemed uninterested in their noise. You were not loud. Not dramatic. Yet something about you held his attention as surely as any battlefield. The khal who commanded thousands watched you as if you were something rare. And in that moment, you understood that you had been noticed.