A Dream of Snow [ON HOLD]

10 | The Last Targaryen

~ Dany ~

'From ice does the dragon's fire burn...' Tyrion recites.  His gaze is thoughtful and heavy with contemplation.

The red priestess who had come to us at Dragonstone had asked for nothing in return for the message brought to me from her Lord of Light.

The message which told me that I would sit upon the Iron throne three days hence and that the bones of my enemies would be but ash in four. The message which told me I would find allies beneath the flowers, sand, and snow. The same message which told me that from ice did the dragon's fire burn.

'Strangely fortuitous now don't you think?' He casts me a sideways glance.

'I had not given it much thought...' I lie.

In truth, I had thought much about her words today.  For since his kiss I had felt aflame, anticipation sparking through my blood like tiny bolts of fire.  The memory of his mouth and hands upon me, hungry and wild, the heat of his desire pressed thick and hard against my own. I had played the memory of it over and over and had thought of little else since but what would happen this night, once the vows were spoken and the feasting was done.

As my maids bathed me in lilac water and massaged jasmine oil over my skin, I'd thought of him.  As my hair had been combed and scented, brushed and braided, I'd thought of him. As my eyes had been decorated with the finest cornsilk dust and my lips tinted with the faintest smear of siren honey, I'd thought of him. As my gown had been hung and sewn with the most delicate of Yissaria beads and slipped over my head so it sat like a soft whisper against my skin, I'd thought of him.

It was senseless. Weak. Female.  I knew this.  To feel this softening, this need, this breathless longing after only a few brief meetings. To count away the moments until his eyes would look upon me again and his mouth would find my own again.  To yearn for it — for him — like this should frighten me, I knew this too.  But it did not.   I felt neither frightened nor weak. I felt something else altogether... I felt strong. I felt afire.

Tyrion and I were alone, Missandei and Greyworm awaited him outside where he would join them to make their way to the castle, then to the Godswood.

'They tell me that my father or brother should present me to my betrothed,' I say, crossing the tent to where he sits.   'But since I no longer have either, I had hoped you would carry out the duty?'

Tyrion's gaze widens with surprise before turning misty with some unchecked emotion. 'It would be my greatest honour, your grace.'

'You told me becoming my hand was your greatest honour?' My mouth raises in a playful smile.

'It was. Until you surpassed it this moment,' he says.

I can't help but laugh, a strange, girlish laugh. It sounded nothing like the one I knew.