( ALIS VOLAT PROPRIIS ) ;

          the solitude of it all was…soothing.

          …despite the insistent, pulling presence beneath the tranquil. crackling in the aether, tickling at her skin, the warrior felt his call; whether he intended for it or otherwise. it began like this, always. a secluded area away from any prying eyes or ears, and then the pull. one unfelt by all except she—but that was his intention, always, was it not? and, much like the many times prior, she ignored it. willingly, for she was no dog at his beck and call. no, if he wished to speak to her, he must come to her.

          willing or unwilling, daenerys never could quite tell… though it mattered little and less, she supposed.

          he would come all the same, and she welcomed him each time.

a pout, small, is quick to find its way upon her lips—petulant and unbecoming of her status, but these were things which he did not care for. for this reason, neither would she. her hands, now absent the book, find their place upon her lap, folding neatly and she tilts her head back, eyes finding his own.

her head cants in a slight cock to the side, a measured tick of the chin, lips pursed. his observation came unprompted—though, that was rather expected of his person, was it not? he spoke in his way, when he so wished, and she only ever left to make sense of the utter vagueness of his words. she smells of a fear not her own, he says…

there are those within your own company that fear you. is this what he meant?

… how not?

she was the mother of dragons. the last targaryen. aegon reborn, if some were to be believed. to some, their most beloved queen and protector. to others, an enemy and a foreigner and a savage; a beast, a monster, set to devour them all. her father’s daughter, come to avenge her fallen dynasty with fire and blood. surely, for as much love which daenerys inspired within some—in others, she had sown the seeds of fear and uncertainty.

did these attempts to unseat her amuse him? was there pleasure to be found in the plucking at the strings of her insecurities? daenerys had known many a cruel man in this life…though none so keen to hurt her in ways unseen.

if so, she would not play at his game. not this time.

a shiver of silence stood between them then; faintly hollow, smothered. only after another passing moment of silence did the targaryen girl lean closer, presenting her cheek in mock of serious oath, and bade him low in a whisper for his ears alone.

“for all your years upon this earth and you’ve yet to learn to speak plainly…

brows faintly raise, in some mockery of pleasure perhaps; before falling back upon narrowed, golden irises.   amusement unfurls beneath the surface, though he does not let it be seen.  after all,  it would be unwise to give the woman reason to think he has fallen into madness –  not when his appetite for knowledge has only begun to be whet.  much has changed in this world, and the next, in his absence.  the tales he had heard have only grown in number, and in depth. it had been almost disappointing, when the daiyōkai came upon the city of meereen, to find it abandoned.  at least, by the one he sought.   the halls and grand rooms were familiar, bearing remnants of daenerys’ time there.   armor, weapons, and a map of essos with a number of pieces at play.  each,  he quickly realized, representing the great houses of this land. it was no great leap from there, with eyes sweeping over the dragon-carved piece placed upon the old targaryen stronghold.   a place he recalls, if only in whispers not meant for him to hear, she had longed to be in, just as her ancestors were.  

moons ago, her party was smaller.   still far greater than he had ever given her credit for, but a pale comparison to the vast number of people now at her disposal.  not only soldiers, though that certainly makes up the brunt of the numbers, as he saw;  but men and women meant to be wise.   to give council.     and yet on some of them,  there is a barest hint of uncertainty.    of fear.   a lesser nose would never be able to pick it apart beneath the surface of desperation and hope, particularly with how they corral at their queen’s side;  determination set upon weary faces.finally,  he assesses  the others he has scarcely given a thought: armed and unarmed alike.  analyzing, remembering.   

                  “    i’m flattered you have not  forgotten this one.  after all, the human mind can be such a fragile thing.     ”

when the weapons fall, his eyes slip shut;  and even unseen, he is perfectly aware of each and every single human in the room.  where they are, the rhythm of their heartbeat and stagger of their breath.  the loudness of their mere existence.    unnecessary,  distracting.  in this moment, he has eyes only for one;  and fixes her with a cold gaze,  head canting briefly to the side as he awaits judgement on his rare,  unprecedented offer.    and it is not for his sake,  but hers.        “    tell them to leave,  and we shall      …      speak privately.     ”

a scoff, short and near-silent ( certainly not to his ears ) escaped the targaryen then. the fragile minds of men…had she heard the words behind the words clearly, or had she, by habit, assumed the very worst of his intentions? “human i may be, and a young girl still though not quite as young as i once was—but only a fool would ever come to forget one such as yourself; grand as you are.” equal parts quip as it was an honest truth.

daenerys targaryen would never forget him.

though she certainly wished to.

now there a request which she had not heard before. that for privacy between them, so that they may speak…plainly? was that it? for the flicker of a second, pale brows set into a contemplative furrow. the past would remind her he had no qualms openly speaking his opinions of her, her rule, and her actions—or lack of—in equal measure, regardless of whatever another set of ears ( or multiple ) were within hearing distance. “your grace,” the voice of barristan selmy interrupted the momentary span of silence; returning her from the depths of her thoughts. the concern in his voice had not gone unheard, but dany simply shook her head, dismissive.

“’tis alright, ser. you may leave us, he will not harm me.” of that, dany was certain. the opportunity to had presented itself countless times before. were her life a thing of interest to him, he would have long taken it. “if you would be so kind, would you send for wine? i fear we may be here a while.” or perhaps not; this one was always quick to say what he felt was needed and then leaving. it was expected.

“certainly, your grace…i will stand beyond the door, if you’ve further need of me.” if you find yourself in danger, he meant to say. his men took their leave, as did her ko, in a shuffling of feet that echoed throughout the expanse of the war room before all fell to sudden silence. until the only ones to remain were dragon and demon, and the roaring sea beyond the gaping open of the hall. lowering herself upon an empty seat, she gestured him to do the same with a loose motion of the hand.

dany knew what was to come—the conversation to be had, if a conversation at all—would by no means be one between long lost companions sharing in the tales of lost time in absence. the courtesy which he had extended in his request was the start and end of his “kindness”. she met it with deliberate delicacy. softly spoken, riven and inwardly written in measures of infuriatingly intractable politeness.

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