"Dragons plant no trees," she remembered she heard Jorah whisper to her when she lay in waste many years ago. He had whispered through the grass and wind. She sat in a hidden spot in the garden. She could see Shireen Baratheon walking with Davos. She tried to pick flowers, while he tried to stop her. "Alright you can have one," Davos told her, unable to resist her charms.
She couldn't deny that it was lovely to look at. She saw the beautiful flowers around her of fresh pinks, yellows, and blues. The smell of them seemed to radiate onto her. For the last years, she had spent her time in the desert. She knew nothing of growth and cultivation.
She walked out of the garden and saw Stannis coming towards her. She tried to avoid his gaze, but it reminded her of looking into Drogo's eyes—there was such depth and memories of blood and war.
"Lady Targaryen," he said gruffly.
"Ser," she returned cordially.
"I was looking for my daughter. I suppose she's in the blasted garden again."
"She is."
"I'll leave her to it. I was never one for gardens." No, Stannis was a man who loved to smell of salty sea that carried him to battle. He was a man who enjoyed a fight and the sight of blood. He tore societies from their roots.
Stannis leaned over towards her and pulled a flower from Dany's silver hair, letting the flower drop on the pavement of the courtyard. "We take what is ours," he whispered with a smile and walked away. With fire and blood, Daenerys finished silently. Those aren't his words, he has forgotten them.