[ He is not the first to speak the words to her, but he is the first to speak them and have his love returned.
Drogo had named her the moon of his life, and though she had known he loved her, he had never said as much. Jorah had professed his love as she'd turned from him, flinging him from her heart and her path. Daario had whispered it often, but his hands had bespoken possession, his eyes a fierce lust, and she had known he would never give her what she wanted of him.
Dany had not meant to love anyone, but she had known she loved Loki the night he led her to the rooftop, where they spoke of Zymandis and the splitting seams of the multiverse. She had felt then that he would leave her, and her heart had ached to think of a farewell that had never transpired. She had not wanted him to go then, and she wants him to leave her even less now.
One day we will all be returned to our worlds, she thinks. One day he may not know me. But louder is the memory of the promise he had made her, to stay with her in her cell. Until you forget, he had told her, his ghost close enough to rob her of her breath.
Madly, deeply. She is grateful that no one can hear how loudly her heart sings, how forcefully it thrums in her ears. ]
I had forgotten, [ she says, her own eyes as bright as his. She had forgotten how it felt. Even beneath the grime she wears, the whole of her face seems to shine. ] I feared--
[ But she does not say more. The ground will fall away from her if she does not go to him, and so her feet are moving of their own volition, uneven in their gait, but direct all the same. She does not care for how they smell, how they look. There is only one place she wishes to be, and she reaches it when she throws her arms around him, rising onto tiptoe. I love you, comes the answer in her kiss, heedless of all else around them. ]
no subject
Drogo had named her the moon of his life, and though she had known he loved her, he had never said as much. Jorah had professed his love as she'd turned from him, flinging him from her heart and her path. Daario had whispered it often, but his hands had bespoken possession, his eyes a fierce lust, and she had known he would never give her what she wanted of him.
Dany had not meant to love anyone, but she had known she loved Loki the night he led her to the rooftop, where they spoke of Zymandis and the splitting seams of the multiverse. She had felt then that he would leave her, and her heart had ached to think of a farewell that had never transpired. She had not wanted him to go then, and she wants him to leave her even less now.
One day we will all be returned to our worlds, she thinks. One day he may not know me. But louder is the memory of the promise he had made her, to stay with her in her cell. Until you forget, he had told her, his ghost close enough to rob her of her breath.
Madly, deeply. She is grateful that no one can hear how loudly her heart sings, how forcefully it thrums in her ears. ]
I had forgotten, [ she says, her own eyes as bright as his. She had forgotten how it felt. Even beneath the grime she wears, the whole of her face seems to shine. ] I feared--
[ But she does not say more. The ground will fall away from her if she does not go to him, and so her feet are moving of their own volition, uneven in their gait, but direct all the same. She does not care for how they smell, how they look. There is only one place she wishes to be, and she reaches it when she throws her arms around him, rising onto tiptoe. I love you, comes the answer in her kiss, heedless of all else around them. ]