Denys shifted his position, his gaze drifting around. The Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen had summoned Valyrian bastards to claim a dragon, and now as he stood there with other bastards, he began to regret coming. Die, she said. They could very well die.

It wasn't much different than life in Kings Landing however. But Denys very much wanted to live. Denys head hung low, keeping his face positioned at the ground. He was ashamed of his appearance. In truth, there was nothing really and truly wrong with how he looked.

He was different, considered abnormal by highborn and lowborn alike. It wasn't his fault he looked that way, but it didn't stop him from feeling ashamed. Ashamed over something that was irrelevent and uncontrollable for him.

Denys heard the Queen say something about meeting Vermithor, and he made a move to follow her and the other bastards. However a hand on his arm stopped him, keeping him from following.

Denys turned his head, jolting at the sight that greeted him. Targaryen royalty. If they had been dressed any differently, he might have mistook them for another bastard. But they were dressed finer than he'd ever seen before.

The question was, what did they need from him? Why did they stop him from going to test his luck claiming a dragon? They only stopped him, nobody else.... perhaps they were looking down at him, believing him unworthy of a dragon....

A couple seconds had passed, and neither Denys nor the Targaryen spoke. Denys was deep in thought and the Targaryen seemed to be contemplating something.