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Why should this be our last dance, my dear friend? The band still plays on; let us continue this waltz throughout the ages till all comes crashing down, making the sweet music of eternal love.

Across the sea came a maiden fair a buxom lass with shining eyes and golden hair with a smile so pure twas like the sun heart to match from the north he came as well dour and hardy a man most true the white wolf who shall forever love you let us speak of the joys of their reign their sorrows delight and some pain for the maiden fair was consumed by desire of the northern king cloak in fire do not give in to despair my friends

Jon snow dragon of the north unrelenting and mighty he shall be a king of old come again upon his brow a wreath of sweet summer his are the hands of a healer gentle and sublime he who is born of the eternal snow but consumed by the fiery lust of the blessed maiden with silver hair a noble wolf he was but no more to take flight as a dragon forevermore.

She is a noble maiden most fair of violet eyes and silver hair forged in the blood of ages long past now the dragons come at last in fire and fury of long ago a noble wolf shall lay the lions low united in love they shall be this noble maiden from across the sea and a wolf of the north hardy and proud with the wisdom of long winters upon his brow one of ice one of fire shall arise Lion's ire.

Now the dice have been cast, and this merry tale shall come to a close of the noble wolf from the north stalwart, and true the bards shall sing of the noble maiden most fair with violet eyes and silver hair a dragon of passion and desire who aroused the old lion's ire I shall sing like the winter winds loud and all shall hear of the wolf consumed by aching need who laid low the enemies of his queen all for the sake of lust and desire.

And so the mighty crow's eye was blinded by the rage of a dragons flame tis the noblest battle echoed by the bards of the age; alas, this taste of victory is but a bitter poison to swallow as the noble wolf marches to his eternal doom just like so many before tis a strange thing this fate of kings for they shall flourish in the cold of rock and stone river and Glen but the pack withers like a cancerous growth when the southern call echoes through the hills for the mother of dragons shall see heartache before the end for the old lioness is cunning and cruel capable of great evil in pursuit of great power she clings to her wilting crown like the drunk clings to wine tis sad as the noble lions were mighty and true not this farcical den of thieves and liars that it has become alas that is the fate of the mighty locked in ivory towers asking questions if the stars counting the names of their forebears dearer than their own children tis the fate of all drunk of this cruel power.

Oh, so the noble maiden fair the lovely lass of silver hair laid low the wicked old crow a mad Kraken born of iron woe with cruel desire the lion fights with mad flame passions ignites and all shall despair for the cursed iron chair shall say the mad lion was brought low today by a fury of winters woe and a dragons might all shall know the tale of love I hold so dear of ice and fire for those who arouse the dragons ire shall face the mighty sons of fire I song of the days of eternal woe when the made lions brought the kingdoms low fighting claw and fang oh so cruel this blackened tale will end soon.

Ah so the noble son of winters breath has returned triumphant and broken to the mistress of eternal fire tis a happy union as their loves burns with a passion not seen since the elder days alas all in not well for the mad priestess cavorted with a sickly kraken of the cursed isles hoping to subdue the children of ashen fire but even the might of blood magic could not lay low the dragons of old soon this war shall end the mad lioness brought low by those she once called allies those sycophantic lords who duel with poisoned goblets and honeyed words all flock to the mighty dragon pure and unrelenting like the Lord's of old she is but a single mountain weathering this horrid storm once strong but now robbed of life a sickly Visage stretched overy the canvas of bone eyes that once shone like glittering emeralds hide s vicious insanity tempered by cruel desire we must stand as true sons of westeros the dragon and sun wolf and rose kraken and stag to bring down those who have shackled us with blood and death to usher in a new age of peace an age baptized by dragons fire.

Ah, tis a happy union blessed by old gods and the new the fires of her heart tempered by the kiss of sweet summer snow tis truly a wonderful feeling love sweeter than the finest wine tempered by the passion of valyria a queen of fire her beauty like starlight pure and elegant a truly wondrous sight burning ever brighter with the passion of a thousand suns eyes like precious gems pulled from lordly halls long forgotten a voice as sweet as thrush cooing their songs of spring she is blessed for a dragon has claimed the heart of a wolf hardy and true for he is as noble and fair as a dragon lord as strong as the noble warrior, more venerable than the kings of long past a true lord worthy of northern fury.

Beauty like the unending sea so sweet and serene it is a mystifying presence that brings joy to all those; it a goddess of grace and life, a goddess of purest beauty like a roaring fire consumed by the list of a noble wolf most fair she is a Rosa in Fiore a blooming rose of love of life and of his heart her body is like perfection so divine and sinful one cannot help but be in awe of her this goddess of mortal flesh kissed by fire they are entwined like the night and day two sides of the same coin tis truly a wondrous thing for all her madness and cruelty the old lioness has brought unity to these aged kingdoms rose and wolf spear and dragon all determined to lay low this viper in lions skins for she is a cruel imitation of the noble lord of gilded halls from the ashes, a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be the throne that was broken, The crownless again shall be queen.

Ah so the truth is revealed for the white wolf cast aside the cloak of winter to be reborn in fire and blood a dragon of eternal winter on this cursed isle of magic and death all was revealed for the thunderous stag was as deceived by a love more fantasy than memory for the rose of the north fell into fire and was consumed by eternal lust alas all was not to be for the mad dragon aroused the ire of the mighty wolves endless desire and brought them low with the raging fire so they all may burn together now the noble wolf must rise above all his forebears and be reborn as a conqueror mighty and true all shall despair as the northern wolf takes flight to become the dragon of eternal light but all is not for despair as the crows eye has seen into the depths of the sky daughters soul and sensed new life an child born of love and eternal lust it shall not bear the shame of a horse lord savage bereft of lordship for the dragons of old have been reborn blessed by fire and kissed by winter tis a union of ice and fire.

So the noble son of winter has been reborn in the fires of eternal war a dragon most proud and strong raised with honor and courage of lords long past he shall sit upon the iron chair long bereft of lordship with the love of fire in his heart for the noble maiden of the sky has enchanted a once dreary and horrid world brining new life where there only dwelt sorrow a noble dragon like no other she is like the forest serene and forbidden her voice sweet as the summer winds cascading down the mountains her eyes like pools of amethyst clear and wondrous your body is perfection sensual and sweet a goddess given for like the stories of old are a dragon of fire and might who makes all feel loved and Noble for she is the daughter of kings a dragon blessed by valyria ensnared by the love of the white wolf she shall usher in a new age of peace where children shan't die for the whims of horrid lords sitting in aged halls musing on heraldry, or in high cold towers asking questions of the stars once the line of dragons failed bereft of lordship given to misery and madness more potent than the venom of southern lords but no more the dragons have come again in fire and blood.

And so the bonds of love have bore fruit for a new dragon shall be sired born of fire and ice winter and summer a true king of men soon comes the end of this merry tale of a noble wolf consumed by desire fell into eternal fire tis a wonderful thing to know love for it is a all consuming desire to be noble and true like the kings of old we shall see the might of dragons from days lost past to claim the cursed throne at last to bring down those horrid foes who brought the noble dragons low soon the great battle of our time shall begin the doom of all men to die beneath the banners proudly so I ask now Where now are the dragon and the rider Where is the horn that was blowing Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing Where is the harp on the harp string, and the red fire glowing They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow tis the doom of all for war is the first enemy and the last but this foe shall not be stamped out by the sword or the spear or the shield but by the province of love and wisdom a day shall come when the sun shines ever clear beyond darkness and doubt to cast away the shadows of the horrid past and usher in the new age blessed by winter kiss and fires fury.

And so the army of crimson is broken, at last, these poor fools doomed to die for the mad ambition of a vile cur so consumed by hate she cannot see beyond her own desires and though the bloody huntsman stood proud and true what is the hunter before the might of wolves cunning and cruel alas the red wolf was brought low by a single arrow tis a cruel fate that the old linger while the young perish in darkness and doubt slain for the ambition of a mad lioness to die beneath the banners of squabbling lords unloved unwanted broken and bloody in the coming days we must stand as one the men of the north hardy and true it is before the walls of kings landing that the doom of our time shall be decided I say unto you Sons of Westeros Of Essos! My brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!

Alas the noble drake was brought low by the fires of death these cruel devices of iron and wood forged by minds of metal the old world shall burn and wither consumed by the horrors of war they shall drive the machine of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fist of dragons most mighty these young souls filled with the zeal of chivalry perish under banners waving proudly for lords most mighty dyeing trampled and broken like puppets who’s strings have been severed unloved unwanted men who shall perish for a future where none shall remember their names all shall not despair for the noble wolf shall bring low this mummer's drake this usurper cloaked in dragons mail this shall be the great battle of our time our doom is at hand alas the world is grey the mountains old the dragons fire is ashen cold no harp is rung no hammer falls a darkness dwells in the hallowed halls a shadow lies upon the tomb of the emerald dragon who gave his life for a man who was worthy of him rest now mighty Rhaegal blessed sagon se zaldrīzes hen se guēsin syt ziry istan nykeā kosh hen se people.

And so the tale comes to an end; the dragon most fair sits upon the iron chair a lovely maiden of blood and fire her heart consumed by the wolves desire, the noble wolf of the north has risen above the might of forebears a dragon cloaked in winter woe lordly and gracious like the kings of old a life in cloth of black cast aside in a swirl of fire consumed by the dragon's eternal desire How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep that have taken hold. Now we stand united to bring about an age of peace to right the wrongs of those who would see the world brought low for the whims of their sycophantic pleasures. The bards shall sing of these days of glittering knights and banners in the breeze of those lost souls who laid down their lives for the silver queen most fair, so I say now let us rejoice in our victory for the dragons have returned and all shall be well Long live the white wolf long live the daughter of fire joined by true love and eternal desire.

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She was his sun, his light, his eternal joy—a beauty beyond compare, born of the blessed sands, a viper of infectious charm and love. Her eyes were like pools of midnight, deep and mysterious, peering into the deepest recesses of your soul. A body blessed by the gods, curvaceous and sinful, a true incarnation of the mother and maiden. Her dragon, a warrior born of the rock and stone, the ice and snow, hardened by the gods of the forest and sky, a true-born son of the north. He was like the moon, brooding and taciturn, a northern dragon most dour, ensnared by the vines of a lily most fair. Their love was as pure as all the gems of Mother Earth, sweeter than arbor gold, more sinful than the Isle of Lys. A dragon and lily entwined in eternal bliss.

Her beauty was like a rose blooming in spring, while her grace suited the timid lilies of spring. To her enemies, she was wrathful and cruel, a wicked viper whose venom would leave them wracked with pain and loathing. But to those she loved, she was beauty personified, filling all with hope and courage, as brilliant as the banner of the sun. None could ensnare this maiden most fair, except for a mighty dragon of northern heart, honorable, upright, and resolute. None she had met were as loving or wise, mere sycophants worshipping her, seduced by the glories of the sun and spear, they were nothing but vessels of pleasure to be used and cast aside like a drunk does the bottle. But he was different; he was her everything, her moon, her great love, her white wolf. Songs shall be sung of a Dornish lass most fair, who charmed a northerner to whom none compared. Their love burned like wildfire, for both were consumed by eternal desire.

Beauty, like starlight, pure and elegant, serene and graceful, was a truly wondrous sight, burning ever brighter with the passion of a thousand suns. Eyes like precious gems pulled from Mother Earth, a voice as sweet as spring's wind clinging to winter's sweet chill. A heart of purest courage, like a roaring lion, and a body of perfection, an angel of beauty without question, illuminating all in this darkened world with boundless light.

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She was like a dream made reality, a daughter of lions, so pure and loving one would think her the incarnation of love—perfection given form. Her hair was like beaten gold, her eyes like glittering emeralds, plucked from the deepest mines of the rock. She is his sun, his life, his eternal love—the wild lioness, strong and free, with a voice as sweet as a summer's wind, for she is fairer than any in living memory, a daughter of Andal kings, unrelenting and mighty. A truer love has not been seen since the elder days, a lion and wolf entwined in eternal passion. Songs shall be sung of a white wolf most fair and a buxom lass with dazzling eyes of golden hair.

To her, he was as noble and fair as a lion, as strong as the warrior, as wise as the father, as venerable as the dragon lords of old, and as kind as summer. Proud and true like the ancient gods of stone and sky, of water and forest. Her life, her love, her mighty white wolf—none could make her happier, none could bring her more joy. He was like a drug, intoxicating, sinful, and decadent. She jealously guarded him like the most precious of treasures. Soon, for him, she would turn the world to ash; for him, she would fight till even death would retreat in fright, for she was a daughter of lions, and lions shall always protect those whom they love—her Jon, her white wolf. Even now, after all these years, their love is as strong as the day those words were uttered, pure and sweet like the soft caress of the winds of summer.

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She wasn't like the flowery maidens of the south, those sycophantic beauties who hid malice behind honeyed words and cheap wine. She was a warrior, proud and true, a northern daughter born of stone and sky. None could capture his heart but a wild maiden most fair, with hair like cascading honey and eyes like beaten steel—fierce as any bear, strong as a Giant—his life, his love, Val. In this hell of ice and snow, she glitters like the sun, pure and radiant. He is like the moon, brooding and wondrous, basking in this sweetest love. It is truly magical, a love consumed by passions burning brighter than the flame of any dragon, more sacred than any southern vow. The white wolf and the wildling queen, bound by blood and oath forevermore. The free folk shall tell tales of these mighty heroes who stood resolute against the oncoming night, showing love stronger than death, stronger than any god.

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Across the sea came a priestess fair, a buxom lass of sinful desire, a maiden kissed by fire, blessed by a cruel and mighty god. She served the false king, a stag consumed by the desire of iron and blood, who tore the realms asunder.

To the north, she ventured, following a call of desire, and there met a wolf consumed by despair, a king of winter stalwart as the stone, mighty as a blizzard. Torn from her by those sycophantic crows, so gripped by fear of folk most free, they could not see the true enemy—warriors of ice and death, mere puppets to the will of a capricious god ever eager for blood, with eyes like stars and voice like ice. Though what is dead may never die, the wolf was reborn by fire and fury, to cast aside his cloak of winter and be reborn as a true dragon.

The priestess was consumed by her desire, drawn to the chosen of her lord, Jon Snow, the northern dragon. She brought him joy and life, his maiden of fire, glittering like the sun, a light in his darkened world. He was the Lord's chosen, and he chose her—Melisandre, lady of fire, an empress of the sun, so sweet and fair undimmed before the oncoming wall of night. Their love shall be evergreen, like the dreams of spring—a goddess of fire and a wolf of old, entwined in eternal passion, sinful and sweet.

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She was perfection given flesh, a beauty beyond compare, with eyes like the mysterious and wild forest, a voice as sweet as a summer's wind, and a heart as pure as the heavens. She was his light, his eternal joy, a beauty beyond compare, born of the blessed south, a true rose of House Tyrell. To her, he was a dashing knight, honorable and true, a mighty wolf meeting all threats with the fury of winters long past. Her life, her love, her king of winter—none could compare to this brooding bastard blessed by the gods of stone and sky. Their love was as sweet as the roses of her house, more sinful than a Dornish maiden, and purer than all the gold beneath the earth. A southern maiden most fair, consumed by heart's desire, fell for the wolf born of fire. Bards shall sing of this love throughout the ages, a son of the north enchanted by the rose of the morning.

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It was romance forbidden by all, sinful and sweet, all-consuming. It filled him like the waters of the Gods Eye. How could this love be so wrong? Her beauty is like the dazzling and brilliant sun, with hair kissed by fire, her eyes like glittering pools of mysterious and loving blue—a queen born of the north, among the ice and snow. She wasn't like the flowery maidens of the south, those sycophantic beauties who hid malice behind honeyed words and cheap wine. She was a daughter of kings, a true northern beauty wrapped in the cloak of winter's sweet chill. None could compare to his dear, sweet sister—her touch, her taste—it was like a drug of the soul, fueling him, sustaining him. Some would call it shameful that a queen should choose a lowly bastard, but she cared not for the opinions of sheep, for she was a wolf most fair, and she would love her brother until the world's ending, for he was kinder than summer, fiercer than any lion, a true northern lord born in splendor and majesty. Her life, her love, her white wolf—let us sing the songs of winter, for the blessed love of Stark and Tully shall shine forevermore, as pure as those of the elder days.

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The meeting of ice and fire came again, but tis not the joy of song and glory, but a bitter wound of the heart, cancerous and rotting. For their love was brought low by the silken threads of a cunning spider and the schemes of a traitorous imp. The kingdoms bled and suffered under the might of golden arms. Alas, the noble queen lost a love most sweet, as the viper coiled around her dying heart, while the mighty wolf wallows in misery and anguish, pining for a life more fantasy than memory. Tis a grievous pain wielded like a sword, casting down those who wish for pure joy, for the tapestry of this aged land is painted in blood and hardship.

Alas, no songs shall be sung of a dragon most might, for she was consumed by grief beyond the count of ages, struck down by one whom she loved beyond any other, a dragon born of the north. For it was for love that he plunged his dagger into her heart, fooled by the silken words of a drunken fool, so consumed by foolish pride he could not see beyond his own desire. And woe for the white wolf, unloved, unwanted, doomed to perish in the lands of eternal winter, forgotten by those who would usurp the dragon's crown. No harp shall ring, no hammer shall fall, for darkness dwells in the king's hall. Gone are the days of valor and renown, now come the days of death and despair, of hardship, all for desires of a traitorous wolf and loathsome imp.

But I shall say, do not despair, let us remember them as they were—a buxom lass most fair, of violet eyes and silver hair, who sought to free those who could not free themselves, and a northern dragon most noble, who loved her beyond all others. We shall waltz to this merry tune until the ages of this world have passed, for it is sweeter than summer winds, more fair than all the gems of mother earth, a true love of the ages, more fair than any that came before, more sweet and gentle, the king and queen we chose.

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Her beauty is like the sun, dazzling and brilliant, with hair of spun silver and eyes like precious gems. Her laugh is like the clanging of soft bells, for she is more fair than any in living memory, born of fire and blood, a daughter of old Valyria, a woman of ages long past—the bastard of a lesser man raised to the epitome of power. Many fought like dogs, eager for a mere smile, even a glance of those mismatched pools of beauty—one deep blue like the boundless sea, the other like an emerald plucked from the mines of Lys. So consumed by passion, none could resist this dragon of the sea; he, born of the rock and stone, the ice and snow, hardened by the gods of the forest and sky, a true-born son of the north. He is like the moon, brooding and wondrous, basking in her eternal radiance. Their fates entwined by a love more potent than the viper's poison, more precious than all gems of this earth. This love is one of purity and passion, for the dragon ensnared the wolf, hoarding him as her greatest treasure. This is the song of ice and fire, and this ballad has only just begun.

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Once again, he stood there in this frozen hell, this realm of snow that he once held so dear, a place he once called home, now but a fleeting memory, most akin to a cruel fantasy, for he was but a bastard. Why should he deserve happiness? Why should the gods not torment him, for he was but a craven man, a horrid creature who allowed the machinations of those loathsome wretches to consume him? She was his love and life, glittering like the pale sun still clinging to winter's sweet chill, she who filled him with joy and shattered the shackles of his heart, and yet he brought her nothing but ruin and death. Tis a cruel twist of fate to know something so sweet, and yet he couldn't savor this newfound feeling; it was stolen by those sycophantic barbarians, those he would once call brothers. They had poisoned his mind, corrupted him, and drove him from his maiden of fire. He can still remember the look of horror upon her face, the tears of betrayal as her lithe form crumpled upon the floor of stone. A bit of Jon died that day. He had hoped to be greeted with the swift justice of the headsman's axe, yet they called him hero, a champion of the people. He was no hero, a simple pawn blinded by falsehoods and honor, left to languish in the frozen hell by that loathsome Tully bitch. All the while, two half-men rule this shattered realm. Now here he stood, the dragon of the north, unloved, alone, yet he shall see his love soon, and he shall beg for her love once again, to have a life together. It wouldn't be long now. None shall mourn him, of this, he is sure. The dance of dragons ended in misery once again. So ends the tale of Jon Snow, a broken, bitter man who sought to claim love, but no bastard shall know the love of another, for the gods are fickle and cruel, and the machinations of men far crueler.

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Thus, this merry tale comes to an end—a noble lass most fair, brought low the mad lioness who made all despair. She shall rebuild the world in blood and fire, to let all know the dragon's desire. It's like in the great stories of mighty kings and horrid villains, those who laid down their lives for the greater good—the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened to right the wrongs of those who brought us so much pain?

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow of doubt, of pain, where the young shall perish while the old linger on in doubt and despair. All darkness shall fade, for without light, how can there ever be a shadow? A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something. These days of cruelty and woe are at an end. The noble sons of Westeros shall no longer die for these vile lords of capricious thought and honeyed deeds, those who held the names of those long dead more closely than their kin. But I must ask, how do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart, you begin to understand there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold.

The old world has burned away, and from the ashes shall come a new age of peace and love. Upon the throne sits a maiden most fair, a darling lass of dragon's fire, she was consumed by northern desire. It was a merry tale, one of heartache and woe, but they came out ever stronger and united through love, boundless and joyous.

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She was a beauty unlike any seen since the days of old Valyria, a creature of pure perfection with hair like cascading satin. Her skin was like beaten bronze, and her form was one worthy of a goddess—sinful, curvaceous, as if sculpted by the maiden herself. Yet, all that paled before her eyes, those mesmerizing gems that bore into his soul, leaving him as naked as a newborn babe, seeking the truth of his tortured heart, like two amethysts plucked from the breast of the earth.

Her mere presence could drive a lesser man to fits of adulation, and many eyed him with envy—those sycophantic lords who desired the maiden of the stars, she who brought him to the heights of pleasure and joy. She was his sun and stars, his eternal goddess, whose love he coveted more than any treasure. Bards have sung of love so pure, but it was a mere fantasy for those childless lords who sat in aged halls, musing on heraldry, or in high cold towers, asking questions of the stars. Many would call him unworthy of such love, of such joy, for he was a creature of sin. Alas, there will always be men of cruel mind and heart who wish to destroy for their own selfish ends. But he cared not for these fools, those lesser men who seek to bring low this joyous affair. None shall come between them—the maiden of stars and he, a dragon of the north—intertwined in lust and love.

So, I say unto my good friends, let us celebrate this love so pure and wondrous, basking in its eternal glow, to be filled with joy and hope all for the heart of a wolf who dared to love.

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She was a daughter of the rock, a true beauty beyond compare, born of lust but raised in love, with a mind as keen as any Maester, with wit to match. And she bore love for him, a bastard, a creature of sin. She adored him more than any other, for her, he would fight any foe, raise empires, and topple gods. She was his lioness, his golden light in a world marred by shadow. Her voice was as sweet as a summer's wind, her laugh like clinging bells, a body born of temptation, for she is fairer than any in living memory, a daughter of Andal kings, unrelenting and mighty. Theirs was a love born of passion and consumed by lust, to be apart from, to feel a mortal wound, an aching deep in one's heart, a ravenous need, as tempting as water to a dying man. Myrcella was her name, and upon his lips, it was the sweetest sound in creation, filling her with love and hope, with eternal adoration for her darling white wolf, Jon Snow.

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In days of yore, where dragons soared above,
A tale of love unfurled, a tale of daring love,
Rhaenyra Targaryen, her fiery spirit alight,
And Jon Snow, noble and strong, in love's sweet flight.

Rhaenyra, a princess with flames in her veins,
Embracing her destiny, breaking free from chains,
Yet within her heart, a yearning did reside,
For a love that's boundless, a love to confide.

Jon Snow, a warrior, his honor pure and true,
A bastion of courage, his heart ever anew,
Two souls entwining 'neath destiny's moon,
In a realm of enigmas, where love would soon bloom.

Their paths converged, fate's intricate design,
A union of hearts, transcending the line,
Rhaenyra's fire danced with Jon's steady gaze,
An attraction so potent, setting hearts ablaze.

She, a fierce dragon, with elegance and grace,
He, a loyal wolf, his presence a warm embrace,
Distinct yet harmonious, a love to unveil,
As destiny's winds wove their amorous tale.

Amidst battles and crowns, love blossomed fair,
Defying all odds, a bond rich and rare,
Rhaenyra found solace in Jon's tender care,
While he found in her strength a love beyond compare.

Fates tested their union, trials dark and dire,
Yet their love only deepened, flames ever higher,
Together they stood, through tempest and gale,
A love unyielding, a passionate trail.

In Westeros' legends, their love shall endure,
A saga of hearts, profound and pure,
Rhaenyra Targaryen and Jon Snow's embrace,
A love story cherished, their hearts interlace.

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In lands where dragons dance 'neath moonlit skies,
Two souls entwined, fate's tender threads did weave,
Laena, fair Velaryon with azure eyes,
And Jon, a steadfast heart, both strong and brave.

Their paths converged by destiny's design,
As winter's chill embraced the realm in white,
Two noble hearts, in worlds apart did pine,
Drawn close by love's enchanting, gentle light.

In icy North, where direwolves roam and play,
And Dragonstone's shores kissed by salty waves,
A love unbidden bloomed along the way,
A union destined, true as ancient graves.

Through whispered words and stolen, longing glances,
Two noble souls succumbed to love's sweet trances.

Laena, a dragon's blood, fierce and bold,
Yet tender as the moon's caressing gaze,
Her spirit soared as stories of old,
Yet found in Jon the warmth of sunlit rays.

His eyes, like night's abyss, held mysteries,
A brooding heart that harbored hidden pain,
Yet when he smiled, it banished all unease,
His touch a balm to soothe the deepest strain.

As winter's shadows lengthened day by day,
Their hearts ignited in a fiery dance,
A love that bloomed midst battles and dismay,
A flame that held them in a passionate trance.

Through whispered vows beneath the starry skies,
They found in love a bond that never dies.

In battles fought and trials they endured,
Their love grew stronger with each passing test,
In Jon's embrace, Laena's heart secured,
A sanctuary where they both found rest.

With dragons soaring high and wolves at hand,
They faced the world as partners by their side,
Together, they would conquer and withstand,
In love's embrace, their destinies allied.

A song of love, of fire and of ice,
Two noble hearts entwined in fate's embrace,
In each other's arms, they found their paradise,
A love story that time could not erase.

So let the bards forever sing their tale,
Of Laena and Jon, love's triumph unveiled.