Chapter Text
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Food tasted bland – just like every other day trapped within the walls where her ancestors resided. It was cold, constantly, despite three large dragons circling the perimeters, the North’s air far away in your memories. You despised the stillness of the night, a nameless fear gnawing your insides, gripping at the edges of your heart and pulling it to shreds for each one-sided conversation, questions unanswered and concern dismissed. Daenerys was a shell of the Queen she was, chained to her own castle and held by the blade’s end by her most trusted advisors.
She had noticed – of course she had – dark bags underneath her usually lively eyes were a sign of a night’s rest being futile, but without fail, Daenerys could catch a thorn in her council without so much as a blink.
“Varys has been poisoning my food.” The Queen muttered under her breath once, in the confines of her chambers with only you as company – she couldn’t know for sure if even you should be trusted, and your stomach churned as she refused to meet your eyes, doubting she’d ever intended to enclose her discovery to you.
“He will not get to you, Daenerys.” Your reassurance barely soothed her, and she flinched at the mention of her name as if it was a foreign word that came from a stranger. You recoiled, a furrow visible between your brows as you swallowed your disappointment at her show of trust. Or lack thereof. “I will make sure of it.” Daenerys stared long and hard at your hand, hovering just above hers before it was retracted back onto your lap, your tone hard as a promise yet your gesture unsure, and she did not know which to believe.
It was then your personal chore to see the meals made and brought to her, testing each serving for the slightest errors – a few gulps of a general antidote would quench whatever arising symptoms you might get, the frequency of attempts too many to count, too out of line and traitorous for someone who claimed would see her through to the Iron Throne. Your hands would often quiver at an inconvenient time, your breaths shaky and sight tilting, and you thanked the Seven Gods that Daenerys was too preoccupied to pay attention. You questioned every cook and serving girl, threats falling easily from your lips in defense of your Queen. If only she could hear the foul promises of death you were making on her subjects..
Some cowered in fear and resigned, stepping down from their roles, whilst a few remained, wearing pity on their expressions as they watched you fend away enemies in silence, unacknowledged and drowning in your own grief – from losing what, they couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Daenerys!” The sky was kind and bright upon her today, the colour had returned to her skin and a flush adorned her cheeks as her silvery hair blew with the wind. Daenerys turned to the source of her name, the syllables no longer bringing her discomfort but a rush of warmth as you stopped by her side, handing her a bouquet of white-colored flowers. “Gardenias.” You elaborated nothing more, only shoving them into her hands before standing by her side, overlooking the hills and endless skies, ignoring the way her gaze honed in on your almost hunched figure.
None of you spoke a word – Daenerys admired the blooming flowers and she hoped, wanted it to stay that way forever, for you to never wither away from her side, for your affection to remain the same however the future looked like. Wishful thinking, perhaps. She did not have the heart to shoulder any other possibilities.
It all turned for the worse when the party of Unsullied came back, bearing news no one had expected, nor ever wished to hear. It would be a long time before you stopped dreading the light of day, for the rise of dawn only meant one thing; war.
“Should that excuse you from joining the battlefield?” Daenerys questioned, skeptical in her ways of pushing you to fight for her – she needed an exceptional warrior, and one of you could equal the sum of 30 unsullied, if she was being generous – you had fought for her the longest, and won her victories otherwise impossible; letting you sit this out would be a waste, when she was so close to her dreams.
You exhaled, though not without thoroughly avoiding her eyes, a strange tick of yours whenever something did not go your way. It was unlike you to decline a chance to march, especially in her name – Daenerys didn’t understand just what could make you start school now, of all times. Could you have been shaken still, after the whole ordeal with Varys? Her treacherous advisor had held your gaze steady when she’d ordered upon dragon fire, but you had lived—reveled in the rush of battles; it would be absurd to be stunned by a mere act of execution.
“I.. am not feeling best, Your Grace.” Stifling a cough, you clamped a hand over your mouth and straightened your posture, heart in your throat as you ignored the hushed whispers of the court for the arrogance you must’ve wielded to refuse the Queen’s orders.
Indeed, Daenerys had heard of your visits to the infirmary, but you had, without fail, graced her with your company every night, going over strategies and childhood stories, shared your wishes and hopes for the future – she had simply thought it meant you were doing fine, with your reassuring grin and childish attempts to cheer her up. You had brought a bucket of paint and brushes once, forcing it upon her to test her artistry on her bleak and boring walls.
“If your knight cannot bear the role, Your Grace—”
“Your Captain will march with you at sunrise.”
“It would not be wise, My Queen, to—”
“Rhaegal will take the skies with you. You will take the city in the morrow. Are we clear?” Daenerys stared hard at the cowering man, anger at your unwillingness for war misplaced – she would rather be ruthless on others than snap at you, so it was fully in her intentions to send you off to battle without another word.
At least, that had been her plan, not yours.
You caught up to her pace right before she could reach for the door, a shortness in your breath that went unnoticed by the silver-haired Khaleesi. “Daenerys.” She paused, but didn’t turn back to face you. “I—”
“Have you come to humiliate me some more?” Daenerys accused, pulling away from your reach, your grip on her sleeve slipping in time with the drop of your stomach. “You know well how much they doubt me, yet you choose to refuse my orders in front of them?” It was only then her eyes found yours – they used to dim under their judgements, they were empty for a time, and they were the brightest shade of violet before.. before she’d stepped foot in this forsaken place – but now, those orbs held a thousand blades, meant to sink into your bones and bleed you dry. You opened your mouth, wanted, needed to remind her that no, you would never dream of betraying her in any way, not even in your death. You wanted to beg, and plead, tell her that if you walked into that battle, you feared you wouldn’t make it out alive.
All that came out was a strangled sound of her name, and her glare softened. Your hand trembled in the empty space in between you, her distance acting a steep valley, and you the broken bridge. Daenerys closed the gap, clasping your cold hands in hers, momentarily taken aback by the ice seizing your fingertips.
“Win this for me.” She murmured a request—no, an order.
Daenerys released her hold on you, her heart squeezing in her chest at the sight of your devastated, understanding eyes, whilst yours shattered into a million pieces in the process.
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Surreal. Her heart swelled with pride, eyes scanning the city – her Kingdom, in all its glory; buildings scattered, ashes polluting the air. She couldn’t see past the tenth rows of her army lined on the field, gathered to celebrate her victory, their victory, and she wanted to sag in relief, to smile and laugh and feel your arms around her—but you were nowhere to be found.
Daenerys settled into her chambers, warm, yet it didn’t exude the comfort she longed for; even with a thousand subjects under her rule she felt alone, and the large space was as empty as the void in her soul. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had demanded a search for you, and the answers she was met with only added a rise in her fury; the damage done was too great, rubbles too many, ashes too thick, bodies piling like a mountain that it was near impossible to find it. She wished they wouldn’t – she refused the possibility of being presented by a lifeless body of yours, empty eyes and pale skin.
Daenerys shuddered, restless in her attempt to quell the anguish in her mind.
“You.. look in need of refreshments, Daenerys.”
She froze, eyes unblinking to find your broken body, standing in her room, a sheepish smile about your face as you leaned heavily on the wall near the opened door – was she dreaming? Had her mind been cruel enough to haunt her with your presence she’d asked for, only for it to be a false memory?
Her feet carried her closer to you, almost tripping in her haste to feel your skin on her palm, to touch you and confirm to herself that you were real. And you were very much alive and here, albeit a little cold, but your lips had turned a shade of purple. Daenerys couldn’t bring herself to be elated by your return – not when you looked on the brink of death, a breath away from leaving her and what was she supposed to do?
“Are you..”
“..fine. I’m fine. Alive.”
She did not believe a single word.
“I.. you won. We won, Daenerys? Did we?” You continued mumbling a string of incoherent words, questions with such obvious answers that Daenerys hadn’t any idea how to respond. Her heart hammered in her chest, a warning bell screaming at her that there was something terribly wrong, and she had to.. she had to help you, but how was she to do so when it seemed your demise was unfolding before her own eyes?
Gathering you in her arms, she realized with a start that there was blood—dried, covered in dust and sticking to your armor, though you weren’t clutching at any parts of your body. She prayed you hadn’t been injured. Daenerys all but dragged you blindly, shouting for a maester or whoever could make fucking haste and save you, she needed to save you, even if she didn’t know what she was battling against.
Losing her temper was the last thing she needed as they pricked and prodded at your skin, pale as the sheets you were laying on as shallow breaths escaped your mouth, your eyelids squeezed shut. Her hands were balled up in fists, knuckles turned white as she did nothing but observe and choked back a sob at the sight – how could she never have realized the pain you’d kept hidden beneath the cloak of deception? You had lied, betrayed her from the knowledge of your own health.
‘I.. am not feeling my best, Your Grace.’ ‘You dare defy me in front of them?’
She couldn’t remember her exact words, but the downturn of your lips and dejected look that ghosted over your features were clear as day, and it would be forever ingrained in her brain how badly she had willingly hurt you. Her cheeks were damp now, as if a dam had been broken and her tears would not stop, not after she’d brushed it off harshly, rubbed her eyes red, or pressed the heels of her hands against it, closing her eyes hurt. Every fiber of her being ached in a reminder of what she could’ve prevented, of what she had done – of the death sentence she had endowed you with the moment she’d asked—forced you to fight when you’d tried to reason that you could not.
“We tried everything we could, Your Grace.”
Their voices were muffled. Daenerys felt like she was drowning, her ears filled with water that she couldn’t hear them clearly. The edges of her vision spun, but still, her gaze remained zeroed in on you, the stillness of your chest and the lack of smile on your face. You didn’t rouse from your sleep and tell her it was okay, meaning you had lied again. Weren’t you just telling her you were fine and alive not an hour ago?
“It was poison. Several of them. Too many, we couldn’t name it.”
How could you have ingested that much poison? Daenerys couldn’t recall an instance where you had fallen sick, much less been poisoned. Had she been so blind to not have noticed such grave signs? Who would’ve held a motive against a knight, hers, so malicious that they aimed to kill—unless, it wasn’t meant for you.
Varys had been poisoning her food.
You had promised he would never harm her.
Daenerys curled in on herself, heart constricting against her will as resentment filled her body, a rage unknown to herself holding her down and keeping her from seeing right. She had failed. Did we win? Your words echoed in her mind. No, no.. did she? No, she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She denied their advice to rise from your bed, your deathbed – this couldn’t possibly be true.
Her hand laid on your chest, unmoving, cold against her palm. You didn’t move, didn’t pat her back and wrap her in an embrace to convince her of the goodness of reality.
Daenerys Targaryen was as ruthless a ruler as Aegon I Targaryen; her reign brought flourish to the farthest end of the Kingdoms and beyond, but still, she was human. On the days to remember the battle, the day she had seized the city and claimed what was hers, the Queen mourned in silence, locked herself away and spoke fondly of her soulmate who gifted her the life she had now, who’d always led her through the dark and held her through despair.
The outside of the castle would be littered with flowers—gardenias, a simple token of your love lingering in her still, stitched to her soul and gripped it with regret and pain, all the while soothing it with a hush of love and longing.
Daenerys grieved, and watched the remnants of white petals destroyed, carried away with the wind without bidding her goodbye.
She watched, eyes half-lidded and heart aching, alone.