( @saturnincs ) daenerys said: ❝ don’t you try to run right now, cause baby i could burn you down. ❞ / sentence starters ( accepting )
Lifting both hands, the dragon prince took a single step back - only to freeze at the glare in his sister’s eyes. “ Oh no, miss dragon, ” he exclaimed, the tone of his plea exaggerated wildly, before clasping his hands together. “ Spare me! ”
So small, she was, Daenerys Stormborn, but so fierce already. She had to be. This was not the life she was supposed to grow up into, and not the life Rhaegar had wished for her ; travelling from loyalist to loyalist, refugees from a country that was supposed to belong to them. It was his fault - for the most part. The fuel had already been made ready. His actions had only been the spark necessary to cause the roaring flames to consume all that he’d worked for.
And perhaps that should have been the end of it. Of him, of the Targaryen line. Perhaps he should have died on that battlefield, among the rubies, but he hadn’t. He’d been dragged from the slaughter as his army ran, stowed away on a cart as they nursed his broken ribs and collapsed lung. It was a miracle he had lived and even more so that he had healed so thoroughly from the mighty blow of Robert Baratheon’s hammer. He could barely feel the strain of his lung as he moved, these days.
The burden of memories is what caused his days to simmer in melancholia.
Dropping to his knees, he finally found himself at the same height as his sister, the littlest dragon, and then he bent his head. “ Have mercy on me, oh dragoness, princess of fire and conqueror of flames, I am your humble servant. ”
