I used to want to be Lara Croft, of Lara Croft Tomb Raider fame. The sight of Angelina Jolie swinging from the rafters of the Croft Mansion in a black catsuit, and capturing the heart of Gerard Butler was more than I could stand. I even named a deerhound in her honor, Caerwicce’s Lady Croft, also known affectionately as “Angelina.” But that was before Daenerys, and Game of Thrones.
For those of you who lack the addictive form of television entertainment known as HBO, here is a quick synopsis. Long ago and far away there were seven kingdoms ruled by four main dynasties–the Starks, the Baratheons, the Lannisters and the vanquished Targaryens who ruled from the Iron Throne with the help of dragons. But now the world is dark, and the dragons have died long ago, and the ruling clans are at war, and as they say on the show, “Winter is coming.”
Into the fray steps a beautiful young woman, Daenerys Targaryen, the last survivor of her clan, sold into marriage by her greedy brother, and gifted by her new barbarian husband with a set of ancient petrified dragon eggs, pretty to look at but everyone knows that the dragons are extinct. She learns to ride a horse, learns to speak his language Dothraki, and learns to love her centaur-like husband. Upon his untimely death, she walks through the flames of his funeral pyre and emerges unscathed, with newly hatched baby dragons on her arms.
In short order, with an evergrowing retinue of devoted followers, and in a flowing blue silk chiffon gown accented by over the knee beautifully distressed brown leather riding boots, she begins her long march home, doing good and championing the oppressed as she goes. At the end of the third season, after winning a battle to free an enslaved city, she stands on the parapet and declares, “I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, The Unburnt, and the True Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”
Mother of Dragons, indeed! Here’s to heroic female figures in art, literature and film. Long may you reign!