Silver [Daenerys Targaryen Imagines]

Let The World Burn

Words : ±1.1k

Summary : It's been a long time since you shared a meal with Daenerys.. what's it take for the need to rise again?

Warning (s) : signs of disassociation, dany is not mentally well, depression, my shitass writing.

a/n : req by anon, who wanted a sweet, cute moment of sharing a meal but got a depressing piece instead. Love you <3

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The days were bleak. Daenerys had never expected Dragonstone, her home, to feel this way; restricting, uncertainty wrapping around her heart in a tight bind, lonely. The Khaleesi was surrounded by her guards at all times - the unsullied, her blood-riders, advisors, Missandei - no, she lost Missandei. Daenerys had promised her freedom, yet the girl chose to stay by her side and it'd only gotten her killed.

Foolish, though she didn't know if it applied to Missandei or herself. She should've sent her away to Naath when she had the chance, yet Daenerys was stubborn. Missandei was a friend, her counsel mattered most amongst the men in her council - she was her sister, and Daenerys had been a fool to keep her here, to turn her head away as they murdered her in cold blood, as if she was nothing but a pawn in their games.

A warning, Tyrion told her - but he wasn't the one losing a sister, no. His sister caused this, and Daenerys realized having him as her advisor would soon turn on her than benefit her in ascending the throne. She had no one to advise her next course of action, anymore. Was she forgetting someone?

It was cold, unlike the humid air across the Narrow Sea, where the nation she'd liberated lived in harmony. A part of her regretted leaving, yet the voices in her head kept shouting, scolding her naivety; you are blood of the dragon, they said, and her place was in Westeros - she had a hard time believing it.

Everyone turned on you, Daenerys mused - it was inevitable, she supposed. Her children was no more except one, her loyal friends gone except one, her lovers - she had none, were you one of them? She thought you more, but It was no matter. She had no use of one, no need for one.

Was the world ending? She knew Missandei would chuckle and shook her head no, softly scolding her Queen for her theatrics, but she was not here. And so the world was ending, and she was alone.

The door creaked upon someone entering, breaking through her reverie and cracking open the shell closing around her, trapping her sanity inside and leaving nothing but an empty body too afraid, too broken to do anything - your palm was warm, wrapping around her arm, holding her wrist and fingers intertwining with hers - Daenerys was back in the room, violet eyes gleaming under the candle lights and she was above the waters now, breathing and alive.

"Hey," The ringing in her ears ceased, and the world wasn't muffled anymore. Daenerys blinked, the bags on her eyes prominent and her lips chapped, hair unkempt and cheeks hollow - if only they could see her now; their Queen, the supposed Targaryen to rule the seven kingdoms defeated by mere loss. She was weak?

"Dany.." Your eyebrows were furrowed, worry written all over your face as you took in her appearance. She used to be full of life, hope - now, the world had taken too much. Daenerys eyed the tray you brought sitting on the nightstand, the bowl of soup still steaming and smelling heavenly, yet she hadn't had any appetites to reach for it. So you did.

There was a hopeful smile on your lips, drawing the edges of them upwards and showing off the crinkles on your eyes. Daenerys almost grinned herself. You took the bowl in your hands, "Here. I made it myself." The silver-haired girl made no move to accept your gesture, only settling her gaze on the meal with piqued interest as doubt ate away at her.

Sensing her reluctance, you sipped at the liquid while keeping your eyes locked, promptly reassuring the Khaleesi that it was safe - and there was a drop in your stomach at the realization of what the world have done to her, for your Dany to fear taking a drop of stew to ease her hunger.

How long was it since she last ate without dread creeping up her shoulders?

"I'm not the best cook, but these are just eggs and prawns we caught. I know you don't like fish..." You filled the silence with rambling nonsense, heaving a silent sigh of relief each time she swallowed a whole spoonful and put your mind into avoiding sensitive topics such as the politics - you were never good at them anyways.

After a while, with just a few spoons left and the cold settling upon the stones, comfortable silence replaced the constant stories of your day you'd wished could draw a smile out of her.

As you put the bowl away and shuffled around to leave her be, her grip on your dress interrupted your movements, heart jumping in your chest - and your arms were around her by the first tear that slid down her cheek, hiccups filling the chambers before she was weeping, albeit silently, her cries muffled by your shirts as she buried her face into your neck.

"I lost." Daenerys whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut and balling up her fist behind your back, pressing them painfully against your bones but all you did was shake your head.

Win or die. She was not winning, but she was not dead - though she might as well be, with the rate she was going.

"No, Daenerys. You are still going, that means you have not lost." Her heart was hurting, as was her whole body and mind, wounded by those who left, tortured by those who chose to stay - but not you. Never you.

"I lost.. everyone. I can't save them, it's only vain." You could feel your own cheeks growing wet by the seconds, the ache in your chest unbearable as she crumbled right in your arms, helpless, hopeless.

"You are the last dragon, Daenerys. The world would burn in your name." She didn't know how that was supposed to make her feel better; yet she felt the weight lifting off her shoulders just a little, felt her lungs breathing easier and her pain eroding away with her loneliness.

"Show them it was not vain." She couldn't, had tried and failed so pitifully, she'd lost again, and again, and again. Daenerys was still here, breathing and engulfed in flames, the names, the memories of her family stashed in her brain - and you were here. She would see them in fire before letting them touch a hair on your body.

There was nothing you could do but hold her tight as a form of comfort, hoping and praying to the Gods that they would spare her the misery, beating yourself up for not realizing her suffering sooner - you distinctly recalled hearing her hushed conversation with Tyrion Lannister, asking for you.

'I'm lonely and I suspect Varys is poisoning my food.' You needn't any further elaboration to decide that Varys would face a horrible death.

"Blood of my blood," Daenerys curled up in your lap, making herself seem small, insignificant - as she'd sometimes wished she was, and let your presence soothe her aching soul. "You are not alone, Daenerys."

She knew that now.

And the world would burn.