alone in the world | targ verse | siv & dany
It was cold. Hell, it was fucking freezing. A small layer of snow covered the London estate now that it was far enough into November for the frost to hit. It was the first real winter Siv Sharifi had seen since he left Vancouver, B.C., and he’d grown accustomed to the Los Angeles heat and temperance. The chill wouldn’t have bothered him nearly as much if his residence wasn’t a bit of a walk from the main estate, where his charge Ms. Daenerys Targaryen resided.
Even shoved in his pockets, his fingers felt frozen stiff by the time he reached the side door to the big house. When he slipped in, the kitchen maids turned to stare at him, as they always did, but he couldn’t even muster half a wink for the cute blond girl who prepared the specific breakfasts Dany liked. He tromped his way through the kitchen, grateful for the warmth but no less bitter about the weather outside.
Mormont had the next several days off, which meant that watching Daenerys was up to Siv and Siv alone. It would probably have bothered him more a month ago, but for now, it served as a distraction and he’d been drinking far too much in his off-time lately. Dany’s company, however trying it could be, was better than no company when a person found themselves teetering on the brink of alcoholism with nothing but their profession to save them.
The doorman in the front hall directed him stiffly to Dany’s private study, one of the rooms in the house that only he and Mormont were allowed into with her without express permission – and only due to necessity. The man eyed him distastefully as he tromped off toward the back corner of the house; he’d never cared for Siv, but then again most of the staff did not, with the exception of the girls who found him easy on the eyes and had never had the displeasure of speaking to him. When he reached the heavy wooden door to the study, he knocked on it sharply three times, a trademark knock that always announced him to her before he appeared.
“Don’t supposed you’ve ordered coffee up,” he said somewhat gruffly as he entered, closing the door behind him. “I need a bloody pickup.”
