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Wake the Dragon, Bathe in Snow, Slumber in Fire & Render Thy Soul

1

See Her Through

"Do you understand sweet girl?" the handsome and loved Silver Prince, Rhaegar, guided her face back to his once more. "You can never go home. We are your family now."

The soft, mellow plea of a girl not yet past her first blood was near whimpering. The golden halls of King's Landing swallowed them faint.

"Nalareth," his dark lilac captured her cerulean ice with so much power, it tore through. "I will care for you."

It shouldn't be this warm, this beautiful.

It should be graved, crippling and cold.

But it wasn't.

He was going to use everyone and anyone. It was his, rightfully so, rightfully blind. The truth is far from him. He can only see the illusion of the Throne. It didn't matter. Viserys was willing to go this far. His so very innocent, gorgeous and young sister was to be given over to the Dothraki, to Khal Drogo. She won't be ready. Still yet a child though soon to become a woman, Daenerys would find no comfort or solace from her brother, not now. Perhaps once he adorned her with loving care and compassion as their eldest sibling, Rhaegar, did.

There's another though, who's been with her since the beginning.

One who knows she would need her more than ever for the hardships of a Khaleesi.

I, Nalareth of the House Ailyra, betrothed to Prince Viserys and bonded sister to Princess Daenerys, have never been so disturbed.

How could the sea be so lovely yet so sharp? It knows how we envy its waters. How we pray to travel across its haven, to be home in King's Landing, to not be exiled for a war brought on by those of greed and hate. Since it was my betrothed who had been the son of the slain King, exiled by the war, then so was I.

Daenerys graced the balcony alongside me. Her long, slender hands grasped the marble edge, noting its smooth stone and cold feel before poising her neck. She smiled. A sad, weary vision yet it was enough to send her one in return. I frowned sharply, pained by the movement. I've stood here much too long. The sun had directed its harsh colors upon my lips and burned.

She led us both inside the room, with a vile of Athiri oil in sight. The servants had filled her bath with the many oils of the Valyrian trade, such varieties of enamored scents and soothing elixirs. The Athiri oil, in particular, is said to have the most healing tendencies, by which Daenerys had already dipped her pale finger into and is now spreading over my bottom lip.

"Why were you out there so long?" she left no hint to respond with another sheet already glazing along my upper lip.

"Should it not be you, dear sister, being prepared rather than this?" Viserys took the floor and came towards us as though the war was non-existent and the seven kingdoms were long since his. His mind still seemed shadowed by his sister being the key and me, the affixed prize.

We've yet to marry.

We couldn't here, only in our homeland, under the King's arch. It was close to happening, the marriage. It was meant to arrive not but a few years after the Lannister, Jaime, ended the life of King Aerys II.

And thus, delaying another Targaryen reign.

As such, we were unable to wed, rule and breed. A wait no one anticipated but its becoming held a comfort only I seemed to partake in.

"She needs no such beauty preparations other than a hot bath to calm and renew. She should be shown naturally not tainted," and should be kept far from the coming purpose, safe and untouched.

"Ah, so I agree my love, but we aim to please one who will look beyond such beauty and into a more, hidden sanctum," he brushed his hand upon her shoulder, sliding the thin strap away for a much more evident meaning. The rest of her dress followed completely, leaving her bare and vulnerable to her brother's inspection.

I moved from her side, the closeness of our position now seemingly influenced. Daenerys would grow tense and unsure. Not by her brother's touch or observing gaze, however, but by knowing why he felt the need to reveal her in such a way.

I promised to remain close, this being one of them. Though futures ones, I'm sure, will bear much more need.

She kept her own gaze on his tunic, breathing slow, hiding her true struggle. Viserys cupped her breast. Nearly did I flinch for her, he was comparing its ample size to what he had in mind for the Dothraki's desired acceptance. He massaged the soft flesh aside her nipple whilst glancing fully upon my barren stare. "My lady Nalareth, would you become increasingly erect and hard by such a vision if you were indeed the horselord Khal Drogo?"

"I would hardly know my lord but if you feel it would then I believe he'll be greatly enchanted by her as any other suitor could," I kept my voice even, unreadable yet with a given smile added. He seemed pleased nonetheless and let go of her now teased breast. But not without first commanding her need for perfection in physicality and acceptance.

If this proposal were to fail, everything he planned and depended on would reach a mounting high. The dragon awakened. It was this or nothing.

"Bathe in your own company dear one and we shall see you before the stairs," Viserys motioned towards the water while collecting me into him, hinting our leave. I wanted to stay with her but in knowing she wished to regain some dignity, I resisted.

Out in the halls we strode, past the waiting stairs and into his more spacious quarters. Mine was the same as hers but much closer, connected to his in a way. Convenient enough for his purposed visits of watchful ventures and privy reminders. He stayed near to ensure none were claiming his greatest right. His growing desires were reaping closer to fulfillment by each passing moon.

A few nights I would wake in his bed, covered by his arms, molded into his length and heat. Nothing more. There could be nothing for the risk of an early conception. A premature bastard, an incomplete heir per say. The ways of royal lineage were no less strict than any other culture. Nor could I even ready myself for it.

He walked ahead to his sword's pedestal. Reaching for the handle towards the tip with a quick sweep of veneered polish. "Go on then."

"My lord?"

"You wish to speak of it so I'm giving you the chance," the sword dropped into its black sheath as he turned in step. His silver-white locks gleamed brightly before the open balcony. "Don't think me blind of your character. Speak," he leaned heavily into the bed's canopy. I held the same, only now on the verge of yielding. He gazed with the same depth as his sister but with something else, more him.

I needed to say it. "Why must she do this? Why must you subject her to such conditions? Is it even certain? Will the Dothraki army truly be yours if she's given? Has Khal Drogo himself agreed?" Enough. Hold back, be still.

"So many questions. I thought you merely wanted to make a statement. How can one respond to such unpredictability?" he edged closer and stopped within a stretch of breath. "Answer me this, would you be willing to wait without these conditions intervening? Can you not see this is the only way for us to return home, for us to marry?" His hands now warmed the rather cool feel of my skin but felt difficult to endure. "I myself have no more patience," released just as hurried. "Put this on," he point to a long material spread along the bed. Its color heavily blended with the sheeting. He turned to face the sea. The velvet curtains masked his form. Something in his grasp pulled his focus downward.

I looked to the bed. There, softly lain against the bear-skinned duvet, was a dark brown dress, one-sleeved shoulder and very conservative looking. In this heat, I should melt. He spoke firmly yet remained. "I want his eyes on her, not you."

"And what do you have planned for her attire?"

"Quite in contrast of yours."

"Then there should be no faults in my walking her to him," spoken too soon.

He spun around. "You will do no such thing. By my side is where you'll stay, she must walk alone."

"I promised her-"

"And I reject your promise. Everything must be perfect, every detail, every design. You are not a part of them," his temper was rising but I couldn't end it yet. The subject needed to be changed immediately but one other matter had to be discussed.

"As you wish. I fear though, if the Khal should like her, the Dothraki culture lacks in our societal ways and behavior. They have no concept of betrothal or engagement. There is only marriage and offspring, nothing in prequel. When we're near Dany, in the village, close to all of those Dothraki men, I fear their interest might linger. I understand no comparison of mine could ever match hers but-"

"Their gaze will be restrained," he stroked the seams of the dress. "Neither the Khal nor the Dothraki hold knowledge of our engagement, or the concept, as you say. They'll merely come to know of our marriage long since occurring. In their minds, we will be."

"We're not-"

"I know this, my love," his voice grew higher yet lowered its first intent. "But do the Dothraki know of the truth? No. So before Khal Drogo arrives, I'll speak to Daenerys. The bride-to-be will know of my bride. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He didn't wait, merely straightened his already regal length and briefly pondered. "If and when the Khal takes her, he and the rest of his savages will always look to you as my wife. Taken and claimed, we're not dishonoring our realm or Houses. This is merely in appearance. We'll sleep in the same bed, share the same bath, present ourselves in constant performance as husband and wife. Yes? And you will wear this," it was in his hand all the while.

I fazed by the new intrusion now veered onto my finger. The Targaryen ring was etched in steel, molded by stone and smoldered with precious gems of sheer ruby and pale emerald. Fitted along the dragon's neck and tail, in its aura, the creature was feminine, in meaning, it was a queen. A ring for the future queen of the seven kingdoms.

"It's been on me for much too long, perhaps now it can finally be with its true inherent," he whispered, soft enough to think him kind. His breath lined the edge of mine. Tender gaze so near, caring touch so near yet was already drawn away. He reached past the doorway's arch before conflicting himself again. "Put that on and meet me by the stairs."

I watched him leave.

When I stood overlooking the sea from the balcony, memory is what kept me there. I was too young to understand how close I could have been to Rhaegar. If I had been older, if he had been younger, perhaps, my life would be different. Now, as I began to undress, I felt the familiar urge to run. But I couldn't leave Daenerys. She was the family I was given. Viserys was a settlement. We were each denied the lives we wanted.

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a / n

Why?

I had an urge to write in this incredible show and merely went with it. Was it a complete loss?

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