Hollow Crown ↬ Daenerys Targaryen

13

Hello! Early chapter because this week has been a fast one. There may be some mistakes because I re-wrote this in a hurry.

Enjoy!

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When Percy awakes, the first thing he notices is the small hand that rests inside his palm, squeezing softly as his eyes slowly peel themselves open.

His irises take time to adjust to the little light that streams in through the window of the small cabin he resides in, blinking rapidly for a few moments as to get used to the brightness before he can look around. Confusion swims his mind as he tries to remember escaping the army of the dead, but finds no memory beyond the fight.

A medium sized bed was what they layed him on, the furs providing extra warmth on his still cold body. He can feel the uncomfortable bandages wrapped around his back, and he knows that his wounds will most likely scar. He ignores the thought, continuing to look around the room. He spots a bottle of wine in the corner, and his mouth drys with thirst. He makes a move towards it, but a pressure on his leg stops him from doing so.

His eyes finally drift to her, and his breathing stops altogether as he watches her sleep, slumped against the side of his bed. Half of her body sits in the chair next to his bedside, half of her laying against the bed, her head on top of his right thigh. He doesnt wake her though, nor does he make much movement in fear of waking her. He watches her instead.

Her face is devoid of emotion, save for the small, occasional quirk of her lips. The hand in his squeezes softly once more and he glances to it then back to her. He thinks he could be dreaming as he gazes at her. Or perhaps I'm dead. If so, he finds himself not entirely against it if this was the sight he would be able to wake to.

But he's not dead. Because she saved him.

Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids, and for a moment he fears she might wake, not wanting the moment to end. She doesn't though, and a smile presents itself onto her cheeks. It's not her usual small smile that's more calculating than welcoming, it's one of genuine happiness and real, as if she's dreaming, and he can't help but match it with his own.

As he gazes at her in this peaceful state, he can't help but think of the outcome had she not been there. Most likely, he would have been killed while trying to fight off the dead, the rest of them as well. He would have never been able to help save Westeros from the grips of his tyrant mother, and the country would have fallen either under her reign or the Night King's. He would have never been able to see the world flourish, as he had always hoped it would when he was a child. There are so many things that he could have missed, yet as he gazes at Daenerys Targaryen, the thing he would dread the most is not seeing her again.

It's a selfish thought. Millions would die if the Night King were to win the war, the world as they know it would cease to exist, yet the only thing he can fully focus on is losing the woman who so unawareingly wrapped herself around his being. Percy had only ever been in love once, and after the death of Margaery Tyrell, he promised he would never do it again. Perhaps he's not in love with Daenerys, not yet at least, but he could see himself loving her. And that alone scares him.

A deep breath is drawn through her nose, breaking him from his thoughts, and he looks towards Daenerys as her eyes start to flutter open.

A crease forms between her eyebrows as she closes them once more, trying to evade the sunlight, and Percy finds himself wanting to trace it, finger twitching by his side. He refrains though, instead meeting her eyes as she finally opens them. Her purple irises seem to register then that he's awake, and then they're widening as she quickly removes herself from his bed.