『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┕━━━━╗✹╔━━━━┙
Most days she spent by his bedside, changing his sweat-drenched clothes and tending to his feverish body. He would stir at moments but never truly wake. And she held on to hope, praying for his recovery and longing for the day when he would open his eyes and recognise her presence. Her poor brother.
"What has the world done to you?"
And in those short moments when he was half awake, he was fed the milk of the poppy, making him unaware of where and who he was. She couldn't help but wonder how long he would remain in this state, trapped between consciousness and oblivion. The milk of the poppy provided temporary relief from his pain, but it also kept him disconnected from reality, leaving her yearning for a glimpse of his true self to shine through once again.
Sometimes, when the halls were empty and there was no one to disturb her, she would climb under the covers with him. She would hold his hand, feeling the warmth and familiarity that she craved. In those moments, she whispered words of love and encouragement, hoping that somewhere deep within his subconscious, he could hear her and find solace in her presence.
If only for a moment, he could know he was safe... If only, for a moment, he could know he was safe, she would feel a sense of relief and fulfilment.
And as in one of those rare moments, she left his side, she stumbled over an unusual sight.
Tanya was sitting in her armchair, weeping. She was holding neatly folded sheets, giving away; she was just changing them. As she heard Daenerys enter, she immediately ceased her crying and stood up. "Princess," she gasped and lowered her head. "Forgive me for my emotional outburst; I didn't expect you to return to your chambers tonight. Might you need something?"
"Tanya," Daenerys said softly, completely ignoring her apology. "What has happened?"
"It is of unimportance, princess."
"No. No, it is not. It is upsetting you," she said, shaking her head. "Sit, please."
"Princess-"
"I command you." She gestured to the armchair and sat in the one opposite it. Tanya sighed and sat down, wiping her face. Daenerys leaned forward, looking at Tanya's face with curiosity, like a small child would. "I have never seen you cry," she noted.
"No, princess," her handmaiden agreed.
"Why are you crying?"
Tanya hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to open up. "It's about my sister, princess," she confessed, her voice trembling. "She is dying."
Daenerys's eyes widened in sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Tanya," she said softly, taking her hands in her own. Only now did she realise the difference between them. Tanya's hands were rough and calloused from years of hard work, while Daenerys's hands were soft and delicate. It was a stark reminder of the contrasting lives they led, one filled with privilege and the other with struggle.
