PLOTTED STARTER FOR @arcusignis ( battle of winterfell )
HOURS, BEFORE THE DAWN. HOURS, UNTIL DEATH COMES. Hours, until the Long Night is here – and it seems like it’s been already, that the sun has set so very long ago and there’s been a small eternity between dawn and this darkness. An almost tense anticipation in the atmosphere as hours are spent with loved ones, final goodbyes, and the ever DAWNING realization that she has no place in this cold North. Ever the myth, the legend – the girl who raised dragons from stone – there are still far too many glances turned her way for comfort to settle, and it’s almost cruel that on this, her last night in this world ( possibly ) that they’ve seen fit to cast her out as unwanted. Perhaps not with words, but it’s all too clear ; she is not wanted here. And where she is not wanted, however much needed, she is not welcome.
Fingertips flex within drawn gloves – though the leather will do little to save porcelain flesh from the scales of her dragon, she knows – even as petite frame makes her way across the courtyard and amongst soldiers become from men who’ve never yielded a sword in their life. Final night on this world, and who has she spent it with? Her Northern lover is barely speaking to her, and his – their – shared lover will undoubtedly have her own people to settle. The FREE FOLK are as unpredictable and as wild as her own Khalasar, she knows ; and she doesn’t begrudge these moments from either.
But by the gods, does it remind the stormborn how lonely it is to be Queen.
In the distance, the Targaryen can hear her dragon calling for her – and she needs not speak to answer. He knows what’s coming, what they’re to fight ; and above all, knows it is his own sibling he will bring to the ground. DRAGONS ANSWER TO NEITHER GODS NOR MEN, and yet tonight she will ask them to do both – and to defend a people who have done nothing but fear them since venturing into this hated North. All she prays now is she won’t lose another child to this war.
Amethyst hues flicker then at what might be fire upon first glance – naught but the inferno of her lover’s curls.
Lips curve into a soft smile, and it’s quiet that Daenerys speaks, a hand reaching for her without hesitation ; and as natural as breathing, that those fingertips entwine with a hand so delicately matching her own. Squeezing, as tight as either can manage – the moment this war begins, they will all be torn apart. Battle demands one remains in the skies, one leads from castle walls, and one who she fears will never run from a fight. The price she pays for loving two as selfless as she is, but with a skill in battle far too proficient to be shielded by the comfort of distance – they will be in the depths of the fight.
“Ygritte.” The name tastes sweet on her tongue, sounds sweeter in a tone not accented with origin. “I didn’t think I would find you before…” Before it begins.
