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DAENERYS WAS TERRIFIED. What was to be expected? She was just a little girl, forced into a marriage with a man nearly twice her own age; she was forced to endure it without kicking, and screaming, and fighting for what she believed was just.
Stories had been exchanged in hushed whispers amongst the Pentoshi servants in Illyrio's manse. All tales told of a brute of a man, taller than the biggest horse with cruel eyes and even crueler intentions. And Daenerys would have to marry him. How could she love such a vile man? Was that not what marriage was for? Love? Had Aerys Targaryen not married Rhaella because of what he felt? Dany didn't know what to believe anymore.
All she knew, or seemed to know, was built up on a foundation of lies. There were no people back in King's Landing praying for her brother's safe return. No one harboured Targaryen flags, eagerly awaiting the day they could fly again. Daenerys doubted people cared if she were to live or die. Daenerys herself didn't care if she were to live or die.
Sometimes, staring down at the ocean below the manse was hypnotic. The water looked so inviting as it crashed aggressively against the pointy rocks, and Dany knew there would be no chance of survival if she were to throw herself from the balcony. And now – where she stood on the balcony, with the sun shining on her back – Daenerys really did contemplate standing on the edge and just letting herself fall.
Maybe I should, she thought. Comprehending such an idea was far too enticing. If I just jumped, people would think I just fell, wouldn't they? Daenerys leant against the cool stone banisters, readying herself to rise and stand on the edge of the world...
"You know," sounded a voice from behind the little girl. Dany's leg was raised, gripping the balcony, prepared to climb up and then to let herself fall to her rocky death. "It really is not the best idea."
The youngest Targaryen turned. There stood Alia, in all her radiant, mellow glory, watching her with caution. Her eyes, which often reminded Daenerys of the moon and stars, were the sharp colour of a storm – frightening and uninviting. There was a harshness to her features, and the folding of her hands were alarm bells. Don't do it, said her fingers as they locked together. Alia's hair – a shade somewhere between moonlight and straw blonde – blew out in the wind, waving in time to the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocks.
"I'm not doing anything." Said Dany stubbornly.
"Oh, no, no, of course not." There was a frown on the older girl's face as a smirk played at her lips. "Then I shall leave you to do nothing, Little Princess."
And she turned the other way, as quick as that, with the faint swish of her white dress in the gentle wind the only sound to be heard. Daenerys's heart fell as she watched her friend – her teacher – turn to leave her so briskly. Alia was her confidant; she was someone who could be trusted with everything. She was her support, so why wasn't she helping her?
