Silver [Daenerys Targaryen Imagines]

Soothe the Storms

Summary : Daenerys mourns the loss of Viserion.

Words : 1.2k+

A/N : just some comfort tbh. Requested by anon hope u like this! :)

∵※∵

The storm raged on without rest for days and nights, as if it was the resemblance of her gloomy heart. She felt it squeeze in her chest, beating against her ribs, then like it was ripped out without warning, leaving it empty and hollow. Now, she was filled to the brim with fury, helplessness, guilt, pain, sadness, shock, all of the possible emotions a living human could experience. If one was to feel it all at once, you were convinced they would blow up.

Yet Daenerys stood on, face lifted high despite the loss, not a single drop of tear on her cheeks. Her eyes were hard, staring at nothing but still carrying out discussions like the Queen she was. It was painful to watch her detach herself, retreating away from the loss weighing heavily on her heart and shoulders, and all you wished to do was to take the pain away. You knew it wasn't possible, yet nothing could stop one from dreaming. Meetings had been dismissed, the Lords and Ladies who'd allied themselves with her had gone back to their respective chambers, hoping for a good night's rest. The same couldn't be said to you, though.

Your feet carried you to her door, heart hammering in your chest as you deemed this selfish and unnecessary. It'd been years since you were by her side after the sun sets, the growing distance had never felt so significant until this night. Before she arrived home to dragonstone, it seemed you were all she needed; an advisor, a friend, maybe even more. Things started to shift before your eyes, the removal of your importance in her council hadn't felt as gut-wrenching as it did now, but even so, you held no power to stop it.

Perhaps you would be sent away one day, when she sits the Iron Throne. A Lannister as hand, Stark as consort, Dothraki and Unsulied as armies, dragons as defense. You used to wonder where you would stand more often than you'd like to admit, yet with how everything was unfolding, you dare not let yourself picture it. The door was shut closed, but you knew it wasn't locked. Still, you knocked and waited until your feet cramped, the night's fatigue crawling up your body. Fortunately for you, it would take much more than blistered knuckles and sleepiness to draw you away.

"Daenerys?" It wasn't a shout, not any louder than the previous words you'd spoken against the door. The owner of the name perked up at the sound of it, snapping out of her trace of thoughts and brought herself to face the wooden door of her room. Oh, how she'd missed the sound of your voice when you spoke her name, like it sent a sprinkle of flames up her stomach and making it jittery.

"Please, just open up. I don't want to leave you alone."

∵※∵

"I just don't think you should be alone." She wasn't. There were guards standing watch at every corners of the building, her advisors just down the hall. The sudden riot by the Sons of the Harpy had taken a toll on her sanity, and Daenerys felt as if she could jump off one of the high towers and be done with it. You stood there, with nothing but a stack of books in your straining arms, not waiting for her response before settling it down on her bedside table.

The night was spent by reading her family history - at least, what little you could find - and carried on from recites on cheesy poems to heartbreakingly sweet love story. Despite the lingering threats that was sure to come the next morning, the two hadn't felt such safety than being in each other's presence. It was the only time the Queen could let her walls fall, letting the hopeful, innocent little girl that she was to take the spotlight.

When you left for the night, claiming she should try and catch sleep, Daenerys had never felt so lonely.

∵※∵

The door clicked, then there were shuffles coming from inside the room. Daenerys wiped away her tears hastily, letting the fuzzy blankets bring some sort of comfort - albeit messily. Thunder boomed and the sound of water pattered against the stones should've eased her troubled heart, yet all it was doing now was carry her pain with the winds, angry and relentless. Her ears peaked at the sound of the door squeaking, her shoulders straightening unintentionally, muscles tensing from mere habit.

At nights like these, little to no words would be exchanged, and Daenerys had forgotten how rare in occurrence it had become, only because neither was brave enough to let go of their pride. And pride had caused her the loss of her dragon, her child, caused her the mess that was herself this night. Even after raging for two days, the storm showed no signs of subsiding, only picked up in its intensity, if it was possible.

It had been colder tonight, winter is coming, the words of house Stark. Perhaps it is true, yet she could hear you scoffing at the ridiculous motto.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders, though unexpected, it wasn't unwelcome; Daenerys felt herself lean into the warmth you provided, letting herself breath in the familiar scents of you - a combination of the sea and something that smelled awfully like dragons. This way, there was no hiding her sniffs, and she cursed herself silently as her tears followed the frequency of the rainfall outside.

"You're allowed to be weak, you know." I'm not weak. You already knew her rebuttal even before she could open her mouth, telling her that she was anything but. It had been her life, to appear strong, be the embodiment of strength; for her people, for herself, for you. Daenerys wanted to deny you, but the deepest corner of her heart knew, wished, that she could be weak, if only for a moment. Being a Queen was no easy feat, much less to be one fighting for a place amongst her people, to free them from torture, to lend them a hand, lose a part of herself in the process while the realm cheered for their victory.

Her fists balled up against your dress, her sobs rocking through her body like there was no tomorrow. Each sounds that left her throat was raw, each pawing on your heart, ripping it apart with every strike.

"Let it out."

And let it out, she did, until her eyes were swollen, and though her cries of anguish were drowned by the crackling in the sky, they carried her burdens away, relieving her of some misery.

You had hoped she would let you in, and she'd hoped you would seek her out, rescue her from the bottomless pit of darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. The Silver Queen didn't exist that night, only Daenerys, a grieving mother, an abandoned sister, a lost child, grappling at whatever bits of solace she could find, a sense of safety to keep her from harm's way.

The morning came and the storm was no more, only replaced by the glinting sun and the chirps of birds, the song of dragons echoing throughout the lands. Her grief never healed, only became a stone that would strengthen her heart overtime with the hope of not turning it frozen. You would be there to prevent that.

And so the Queen carried on, no trace of sadness left on her face, a silhouette of someone that kept her sane trailing after her.