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Chapter Text

A red star bleeds in the skies.

It seemed only right that they should follow its trail.

It seemed only right that it would bleed fire across the desolate skies of the Dothraki Sea, giving the newly crowned khaleesi the fuel needed to inspire her khalasar.

And what a meagre khalasar it was; mostly, she was followed by those who had no other choice but to follow her. Those who would die either in misery worse than this or murdered at the hands of other khals, khals who had once served under her husband. Those who were too weak to fight: the women, the children, the old and the sick.

The kos who remained refused to pledge themselves to a woman, and had indeed remained with the intention of leading her to the dosh khaleen, as was custom of the wives of fallen khals to join the crones. They remained out of loyalty for the memory of Drogo, and respect for the woman they had served as their khaleesi.

That is, until they witnessed her survive Drogo’s pyre. Not only survive it; but step out of it with three baby dragons in her arms.

Now, they follow the bleeding star by her side. Dehydrated. Starving. Exhausted. Still, they carry on. They all do. Even the sick. The Dothraki weren’t one for weakness, even if Daenerys Targaryen had a heart that was much too weak at times. Had it not been her weak heart which found her in this situation after all? Her husband dead. Her son, dead. Her people starving and lost. No prospect of hope or rescue.

Once again, she is naught but the Beggar Queen, only there is no one around for her to beg. No doors to knock on. No slimy merchant ‘friends’ interested in the future an alliance with the Targaryen heirs could bring them.

There was only the bleeding star, and its trail.

Daenerys had stepped into a funeral pyre, knowing full well that she’d step out of it alive. Knowing, in her heart, in her soul, that she was meant to do just that. Her entire life. The house with the red door, Viserys, the begging, the suffering, the man she had been sold to as a brood mare, everything that had followed since then. All of it led to that moment, where she made that decision. And she survived. If fire cannot take her, surely… the red waste could not, either. It would be a fate too cruel, for one who survived so much. She outlived her brother, her husband, her unborn son, and so many men in her life, and it had all to be for a reason. If she lost the faith in that, what would she have to lead her? She'd be not only commending herself, but all those who now depend on her, also. 

She tells her people that they must follow the bleeding star, for its path was a herald of her coming, wherever it may lead. They all believed it to be an ill omen, but Daenerys would tell them that the red star would lay the path which she must follow. But the truth was far simpler than that: they’d dare not venture in any other direction, for anywhere else, but the path which the star led, would take them towards the arms of their enemies. The two khalasars that had formed from Drogo’s awaited them in different directions, and Dany knew that her dragons were in no position to fight — yet. They refused to eat, even as she tried to feed them by hand. It was then that she remembered something her brother had told her, during those time he’d tell her stories, before he grew into the bitter, jealous and violent creature that she had come to hate. Only dragons and men eat cooked meat. And so, Daenerys began to cook the meat before offering them to her dragons, and when they began eating at long last, they grew strong and big; though her khalasar did not.

Her dragons grew strong, but her people grew weaker.

Doreah, one of the handmaidens that had been given to her as a wedding gift by her brother, died of a fever. Dany had taken care of her, herself, and she died in her arms. It was then that her people began doubting her. The Dothraki despise weakness.

Have I crossed half the word and seen the birth of dragons only to die with them in this hard, hot, desert? But if she starts doubting herself, how can she lead her people out of this? Her dragons? She must be strong. For them.

So, she must push on, even if she feels the strength leaving her, even if her bones and muscles ache and her stomach turns at the mere sight of horse meat. She could ride her silver, and at times, Ser Jorah would wordlessly take her into his arms and place her atop her horse, much to her protest, but more often than not, she’d be too tired to do much else. What right did she have to ride her horse when most of her people had no horse to ride? A true Queen must suffer her people’s pains.

Days were long and hot. Nights were even longer, and cold. Many times, she’d turn to find the presence of Ser Jorah, her Queensguard, sat by her side, guarding her, and serving as warmth, and she’d find herself asking him: “Does it ever end?” To which he would solemnly look at her, whether with pity or something else, she could not tell her. “Everything ends, khaleesi.” That never gave her the comfort it should. But she supposes that it was enough to keep her going. The promise that one day, it’d end. And that at least some of her people would live to that day.

At long last, after many days of stumbling hopelessly and tirelessly through the Red Waste, they had stumbled upon an abandoned city.

The city had large white walls encircling it, wall towers, and city gates, which were broken. The walls were cracked and crumbled, and the city gates were a maze of narrow and crooked alleys. The buildings were all built together, blank and windowless. Everything seems to be either fallen into rubble or damaged by fire, but devil grass grows between paving stones. Enough grass to sustain a small herd of horses, which gives them hope. At least the horses would recover. The city has vegetation beyond that, however. There are grapevines, fig and peach trees, as well as other fruit trees in abandoned gardens behind closed doors. There are wells with pure and cold water, and Red Waste animals. Small, such as red scorpions, but big enough to be cooked and eaten. The remnants of the fallen city terrify her superstitious khalasar, though the unforgiving environment of the Red Waste seems to frighten them further. It brings Dany a sense of dread to see all the skulls of the unburied dead. But it matters not; they found something. Something that would allow them to regain strength. Her people would not starve, and she could finally rest.

For the first time since the fall of her husband, Dany had finally managed to sleep a full night’s sleep. No dreams had haunted her that night. She laid down amidst her furs in the cold night, wearing the lion pelt she had been gifted when she was still Drogo's khaleesi, alone save for her handmaidens and the guards outside the building she had taken for herself; a house with bleached walls that had not been as punished by time and weather as most of the others.

She dubbed the abandoned city, which was not known to any, as Vaes Tolorro. In Dothraki, it meant city of bones, which seemed appropriate, as she concluded it was the Dothraki who had destroyed the city. Her handmaiden, Irri, was fearful, and had kept close to Daenerys since their arrival. She feared the ghosts. But Daenerys reassured her, in the morn. “I fear no ghosts.” She sent her handmaidens to fetch her water from the wells, in the hopes that they would calm down. And as she braided her hair, she heard Ser Jorah enter. She had asked that he’d remain watch, for she felt that this place was unprotected, and even if she vowed to make her people feel safe, they had to be careful. Enemies could slip by during the night. She feared no ghosts. Only men.

When she turned to face Ser Jorah, he had a peach in his hand.

It was small but looked so sweet and overripe that the juices dripped down Ser Jorah’s fingers. It made her stomach growl. She had not tasted anything that looked that sweet in a long time. Ser Jorah knelt before her. “I’ve brought you a peach,” he said as he offered it to her. After having no food or water for days, when she took the first bite of the peach, it was so sweet she cried in pleasure. Dany ate it silently and slowly, savouring every mouthful, whilst Ser Jorah stood and told her of the tree he plucked it from. He told her that they should rest there, regain their strength. Dany told him she agreed, even if her handmaids told her there were ghosts there. It was then that Ser Jorah told her of his wives. Of his homeland. Her lion pelt, which she wore to bed in the cold nights, slid off her shoulder as he spoke. She’d slowly tug it back into place. Ser Jorah’s eyes watched her movement. Fascinated. He wants me, she thought to herself. Not as his Queen; as a man wants a woman. He told her of his lost children. Of his late wife. Of how she had betrayed him. His voice was full of grief and pain. And Daenerys was tired, and lonely. She found herself reaching for his big hands, her fingers still sticky with the sweet peach juice. There was something, there. A spark she had not felt with Drogo until later on in their marriage. Ser Jorah was not the comely type of man, but he was not ugly. He was tall, strong, and he had kind eyes. She trusted him. Loved him, in a sense, even.

It was but for an inch that they had not kissed.

He drew closer and closer, until a big hand was on the small of her back, and another cupped her cheek. She asked him, in a breathless whisper, what his late wife, Lady Lynesse, looked like. And he whispered in his gruff voice, that she looked like Dany.

Her handmaidens had returned with the water she requested, and Ser Jorah left after bowing long and low to her. Dany had needed to be washed and cleaned with cold water after that. She thought about Ser Jorah’s hands and the way he held her for a long time after that encounter, but once she stepped out into the sun, her lips no longer dry and cracked, her hair brushed and braided, her leathers clean, her skin smelling of oils they found in the old house she slept in, she ordered her three bloodriders to scout as far as they could. The horses looked stronger now that they had been watered, fed, and had rested in the shade. She ordered them to not return until they had found something. They rode southwest, south and southeast.

To the south of the city, the barren red waste continues, until an ocean shore is reached, where the poison water is. The bones of an immense dragon were found there. Dany held it in her hands, as her bloodrider returned what looked like a giant claw to give her as evidence. My children will not end up like this, she promised herself, and her children, as she fed them that day. When the rider that had gone southwest returns, he reported that southwest lies Vaes Orvik and Vaes Shirosi, two abandoned cities of the Qaathi, similar to Vaes Tolorro but smaller in size.

Jhogo was her last bloodrider, and he had not yet returned, days after.

She began worrying and spent more time with her people. They had begun idolizing her. Calling her grand names, as she spent time amongst them. The women, the children and the old seemed to take a liking to Vaes Tolorro, once they had grown past their superstitions of the city. Still, she’d look at her dragons and wish to ride them. The children she had named after the men dearest to her.

Viserion, for Viserys. The brother she loved but did not mourn when he died.
Rhaegal, for the brother she had wished she had met.
And Drogon, for her sun and stars.

They had grown quite a bit since their birth, but still, they were not big enough to be ridden. Not yet, no matter how much Dany would dream of riding them to meet and touch the red star. Or now, to find Jhogo amidst the Red Waste. But she was no longer a girl. The time for girlish dreams was over. Daenerys had been reborn in Drogo’s funeral pyre, just as her dragons had hatched and come to life themselves.

She was a leader, now.
A woman grown.

She had been a wife. A mother. And now she was a Queen. But she’d dare not leave the abandoned city. She ordered Ser Jorah and the others to fortify the city. Those who were strongest spent the days cooking, cleaning, looking for useful things amidst the rubble.

On the eleventh day of Jhogo’s disappearance, she was preparing to send one of her bloodriders after him. But she did not need to, for some time after midday, three horses were spotted coming towards their city. All horses were white, with long, shiny, beautiful manes, and the two riders atop the two extra horses were equally beautiful, with long and shiny hair. When Jhogo climbed off his horse, he seemed content, and excited, and knelt before Daenerys to offer her what looked like wine, in the most beautifully crafted, clear bottle. He seemed so eager for her to try it, that she could not help but do it almost immediately, as the two riders by his side, still atop their horses, watched.

Dany uncorked the bottle, and just before she took a sip, Ser Jorah stepped in, insisting that he’d smell it or drink it first. But Jhogo reassured him that it was safe, and Dany trusted him with her life.

He was her kos, after all.

Dany was mostly interested in the men. They did not look to be human. She almost wondered if they could be from— no, it could not be. But they reminded her of Viserys. Of the descriptions of her parents that her brother gave her. Pale flesh, long hair. Amber eyes. She was fascinated, and wished to know them, but they just sat atop their horses and watched her. So, she smells the bottle, and the scent was… unlike anything she had ever known.

It was mead, clearly, but it also had traces of honey, and flowers that she did not know.

When Dany finally tasted it, it was like she was tasting an entire forest in the form of a liquid that went down her throat like melted honey. It was smooth and warm as well as refreshing and made her feel light and happy. She immediately went for another sip and smiled once she had the third. She shoved the bottle excitedly onto Ser Jorah’s arms, and urged him to try it. He did it suspiciously, but once he had a sip, he too, could not help but have more. They passed the bottle along; first her bloodriders, then her handmaidens, and to the people that had gathered around them. Jhogo was so proud of himself, and at last, the riders climbed off their horses, and as Jhogo introduced them, they showed that they carried more of the honey-mead with a particular name she could not pronounce, and food.

They were, as the taller and comelier one said in a very broken Dothraki, elves.

“There are no such things as elves,” Ser Jorah said, in Dothraki. Fierce, protective, possessive. Jhogo explained that he rode for days on end, until he had finally come to what he deemed was the end of the Red Waste. There was a border where the red waste met green, flush ground, that introduced him to a new land. A land unlike anything he had seen before. So much vegetation. Trees taller than the eyes could see. But they were dangerous woods. He fought giant spiders and ugly demon-beasts. And the elves, these beautiful, tall creatures with long, beautiful hair, had saved him. Taken him prisoner. But only because he could not speak their language and they could not identify what he was. He met with their prince, Legolas. A young, beautiful creature, as Jhogo described him. He seemed particularly eager in describing him to Daenerys, making note of how he was unmarried, and almost as beautiful as the Queen herself. Of how he moved as if he was made out of air, of how well he fought with bow and sword alike. Dany was no fool. She could see where this was going. But she let him carry on; he met the King, eventually, and amongst his soldiers, the elf next to him, the comely one, called Lúthon, spoke Dothraki, as he had once ventured beyond the lands they called Endor. Jhogo had told the King, King Thranduil, and his son Legolas, of the mother of dragons. The most beautiful young woman Jhogo had ever laid eyes on, who had walked through flames and given birth to three dragons. Legolas had wanted to come to meet Daenerys himself, and see the dragons with his own eyes, but the King would not risk a trap, and sent instead Lúthon and Camaenor, who had not yet spoken a single word.

“Do you speak the Common Tongue, my Lord?”

At this, the elf smiled. “I am no Lord, Your Grace. And yes, it seems that the Common Tongue of your land, is the same as that in Endor.” Dany met Ser Jorah’s eyes, and albeit he had liked the honey-mead very much, he seemed suspicious. “Lúthon,” she pronounced the name well, for a foreigner. Dany was good with languages. “Am I to take that these presents, the horse and the escort of my bloodrider here, is no mere act of kindness from the King?” At this, the elf smiled again. “Your bloodrider did not lie when he spoke of your beauty and your brilliance. You are as clever as you are beautiful, Queen Daenerys. But… I would like to discuss this matter in private, if you would be so kind.”

Dany would normally look at Jorah, before making such a decision. But not this time. Lúthon bowed before her as she took a step forward and offered her his hand. She took it, and before she knew it, she was atop his horse, her arms around his middle. He gave a command she could only guess was in Elvish and rode off, away from Vaes Tolorro.

His horse travelled faster than any other horse Dany had ever ridden, and lighter, too. Somehow. Her legs did not chafe or ache, and she had never been as comfortable as she was with her nose so near Lúthon’s hair. He smells of flowers, she thinks to herself. But not in the simple way one might think. It’s as if his hair is enchanting me to smell it. She heard Ser Jorah’s distant voice. Is he calling for me? But she does not care. Her arms tighten around Lúthon’s middle, and she smiles, her eyes falling shut as the wind caresses her face.

Wherever Lúthon is taking her, it must be just as beautiful and magnetic as he is.

Chapter Text

They must have ridden hours.

Dany’s head, at some point, had come to rest upon the elf’s shoulder. He did not seem to mind. With her eyes shut, it was almost as if they were flying.

Although Dany had never flown before, she had vivid dreams of it. Her dreams have been coming true for some time now, and so she has this deep-rooted belief that one day, she’s going to fly. Her children and her will take to the skies, as a dragon's place is up amidst the clouds.

She awakes with a start.
She had been dreaming of riding Drogon. It was wonderful. But as she stands from the silken sheet she had been laid upon, she finds herself barefoot, standing on a beach. Dany is facing the poison water the Dothraki are afraid of.

The sea.

The water is a dark blue, and the beach smells heavily of fish. But the sand she feels beneath the silken sheet is soft, and pleasantly warm. She has half a mind to take off her leathers and run off into the sea. The water looks so enticing. Her fingers begin to fumble with the clutches of her skirt, when she hears a voice so smooth all the hairs on her body stands at attention.

“I do not think that water is fit for swimming.” She turns around so violently she nearly falls over, stumbling backwards until she came face to face with the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on.

Dany had thought Lúthon was comely. This elf?

He was so beautiful he knocked the air out of her lungs. He was as tall as a young tree, lithe, but his shoulders and arms showed strength. His face was fair beyond the measure of men and his hair was silver-gold, much like Daenerys’. His eyes, however, were bluer than the blue skies on a clear summer day. He wore green and brown clothes of light make, a bow on his back, and at his belt a long white knife. His clothes were different from the elves she had met earlier, however. She could tell by their make and beauty that these were the clothes of royalty. 

This, she thinks to herself, must be the Prince.

“Forgive me, my Lady. I did not mean to frighten you.”

He stepped closer, and she remained rooted to the spot. He was much taller than her, and seemed to be as young as she was, though something in his eyes told her otherwise. Dany had seemed to have lost her voice. Just hours ago, she had told herself she could not give herself the luxury of being a girl anymore, and here she is; lost before a handsome man. But he is not a man, a voice inside her mind tells her. And she would’ve giggled, were she alone with her thoughts. “You did not frighten me. I— I was expecting—”

“Lúthon? You must forgive him for this. When my father sent him in my stead, and forbade me to follow, I had to take such measures. The way that your rider spoke of you… a mortal woman, so young, birthing three dragons…”

There was something different about the way he looks at her. It isn’t want, like there is in Ser Jorah’s eyes. Or adoration like in her people’s. It’s something new. Something she doesn’t recognise. “My name is Legolas. I am Prince of the Woodland Realm.” He bows before her, a hand on his chest. She timidly bows her head. “I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen. Blood of Old Valyria, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, and rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” This seemed to confuse and interest Legolas beyond anything else. He looked at her curiously, as he stepped around her.

“My father says there is a legend of this land you come from. Valyria. A land where men tamed dragons and danced with dark magic beyond that which we dream of. A thing which brought them their doom.”

He’s facing the sea, now, hands clasped behind his back. He has long white fingers, clean, well-kept nails. Daenerys had half a mind to run her fingers through the braid in his hair. “I only know of the stories my brother would tell me,” she stands by his side, watching the waves crash against the seabed. “My ancestors conquered a land called Westeros. My family ruled for generations. But our dragons died out. My father… my father, was a madman. A Usurper now sits upon the Iron Throne. My brother and I escaped, and spent our lives running from assassins.” Dany could feel his eyes on her, but she did not look away from the sea. Not yet.

“What of your brother, now?”

“He’s dead.” A silence followed. Of which she was glad for. To think of Viserys was to think of things she didn’t want to think of.

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.”

Daenerys looked up at him, then. And he looked at her. They seemed to stare at each other for quite some time. As if trying to decipher each other through their eyes alone. Or perhaps read each other’s minds.

He was the one who spoke first. His voice a gentle whisper that caressed her face as the sea blown wind did. “You have the most unusual eyes.”

There was the ghost of a smile on her lips now. “Amethyst.”

He smiled, and she felt as if her children were dancing inside her stomach. Like when Rhaego would kick inside of her. It was a small smile. Barely there. But it touched his eyes, and made them twinkle.

“Yes. Amethyst.”

She had to turn away again, and Legolas returned to his questioning; he asked her how she ended up with the Dothraki and of Khal Drogo. He asked her of her brother, of her family. Of Westeros. And she asked him of the Woodland Realm, and elves. He told her stories that had her fascinated. Dany had always loved stories. Ever since she was a child, all she had was stories. Viserys had been really good at telling them. Stories of their parents, of his childhood as a young Targaryen prince. Stories about the future they’d have, when he’d take back the Iron Throne. But the stories Legolas told her were much nicer. Like the stories she’d read in the books’ Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift. Dany learned that he was centuries old. That elves did not age as mortal men did. And not once had he asked about the dragons; which she found strange, but she’d dare fool herself that he was interested in her, and not the dragons. She’s not sure how long they stood there, talking. Getting to know each other’s stories.

When the sun started to set in the horizon and the breeze grew colder, Dany wrapped her arms around herself. Dragons did not feel much of the cold, it was true. But the sea breeze was unlike anything she had ever experienced, though there was a similar air about it. She supposes that she was no stranger to it, after all. She had been born in Dragonstone and had set sail to Essos. Daenerys finds herself wondering how the Red Waste ends on the border to this Woodland Realm. She wonders how all of these lands fit together. How these places and these people exist and seemingly aren’t aware of each other. It seemed like the world was much bigger than she had ever dreamed of. That there are still things and places she hasn’t even heard of. There are creatures who look human but are beautiful beyond men, immortal and long eared. Who moved as fluidly as water.

“How long have I been gone?” She turned to watch him as he moved.

“A few hours, no later. We are not far from your camp, rest assured.” But she was not assured. She had never been that far from her children for so long.

Legolas placed the silk sheet she had woken up on around her shoulders. Turns out, it was a cloak, fashioned out of the softest material. It wasn’t silk, but it was warm and light at the same time, and it seemed to fit her perfectly. Legolas whistled, and a beautiful horse answered his call. He jumped atop it gracefully, as he did everything else, and offered her a hand. She wanted to touch him more than anything, but she made a point of climbing the horse herself, recognising the amused look on his face once she settled behind him, hands on his waist. “If we make haste, we will have time to retrieve your children, and reach my father’s stronghold in two days.”

“What of my people?”

“They will be welcomed among my kin.”

Though she did not know why, she trusted him, and by the way she wrapped her arms around his middle, he seemed to be of a mind that she agreed with his plan. Riding with Legolas was somehow better than riding with Lúthon. Whereas Lúthon smells of a floral garden, Legolas had this earthy scent. Like mud after its been kissed by rain. He smells of a river in the middle of a forest, and when Dany rests her cheek against his back, skin caressed by his silver hair, she thinks of birds singing in high treetops, the sun tickling in through gaps in the leaves, tickling her flesh. She thinks of big rocks and waterfalls. Colourful fish and laughter.

She thinks of home.

Dany did not fall asleep riding with Legolas. She presumed that the honey-mead had made her sleepy; but there was something about the ride with Legolas, about the Elven Prince himself, that kept her wide awake, though joyous and relaxed, through the ride. They exchanged words, here and there, but mostly, they rode in silence.

Legolas’ hair seemed to glow under the moonlight, just as Dany’s did.

Our children would be beautiful, she finds herself wondering. How could she be thinking such things, when she had just met him? She promised herself that she would not take a husband the way she was given to Drogo. She is no longer that helpless child bride.

But this is different. She spent an afternoon with Legolas and neither of them discussed marriage or alliances. He did not even seem interested in her dragons. He simply wanted to know about her. Who she was. Where she came from. He seemed curious, above all else. And that was a first; no man had ever taken such interest in her before. Not even with ulterior motives. Not once, had he looked at her in the way men do. It felt refreshing to be looked at as a human being, rather than a piece of meat.

Ser Jorah is waiting for them at the broken gates of Vaes Tolorro when they arrive.

Legolas commands his horse effortlessly. The subtlest of tugs on the reigns and the animal slows down until he comes to a halt, the elf jumping from the horse to offer Daenerys help climbing off. This time, she accepts his help, even as Ser Jorah rushes to do so, as well. Her hands grab Legolas’ as he sets her down by her waist, and there is a minute longer as they stare into each other’s eyes, his hands on the curve of her waist and hers on his shoulders. She can see the moonlight reflected in his eyes, dancing down his hair. And he can see the same across her face, her amethyst eyes. Her pale skin.

It’s Ser Jorah’s voice that breaks the spell, as the Elven Prince had been smiling at the young Queen in a way the Knight was not so keen on.

“Khaleesi,” he knelt before her. “We have been worried sick. Your bloodriders were restless.”

Dany smiled, as she touched Ser Jorah’s cheek. “I am fine, Ser Jorah. I could not have been safer.” She glances over her shoulder at Legolas, who seems intent on not smiling, but he’s failing. “Ser Jorah, I want you to meet Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. He is the King’s son.” Legolas stepped forward, giving a tilt of his head, an act Dany deemed as a sign of respect. “The Queen speaks very highly of her Queensguard, Ser Jorah.”

The look on Ser Jorah’s face is one of intrigue and jealousy, but he is polite, and greets Legolas as he would any Prince that is in a position to help Dany.

Once introductions are in order, an elven guard dressed in golden armour she does not recognise comes out of the shadows to speak to Legolas. They speak in this beautiful tongue, and the guard bows to Dany before taking the reins of Legolas’ horse and guiding him to where the Dothraki horses were. Legolas, seeing the look on Dany’s face, explained, as she led him towards the city. “Once I had confirmation that your dragons were real,” he mentioned Camaenor, and how he had inspected everything once Dany rode off with Lúthon. “I had more men come, so they may assist your people on their way to Mirkwood. You have had luck, not having had run into orcs or goblins or other foul creatures. This Red Waste is no man’s land. We never travel this far. The borders surrounding the edge of this side of the Realm are mostly unguarded. Your rider was found near a nearby nest of spiders, by a strike of luck, else he'd be dead now.” Luck. That’s a thing she never imagined she or her people had. But by walking side by side with Legolas, she was staring to change her mind.

“Khaleesi!” Irri ran towards her, making Dany jump, but Legolas seemed unsurprised, his hand having had stopped Dany from stepping forward and running into her handmaiden. As if he had seen or heard her coming. She bowed before Dany so deeply she nearly touched the ground beneath her feet. Dany laughed, and helped her up. “I have only been gone a few hours, Irri.” The raven-haired girl eyed Legolas up and down, before her eyes settled on Dany again. “Khaleesi, it’s the dragons— they’ve been restless since you left! They would not eat and burned many people who tried!” Dany looked at Legolas and reached for his hand. His eyes widened, and he glanced at Dany’s hand, now holding his own, as if he had never done such a thing; held hands. She’s not quite sure why she did it, if she were being honest. Perhaps it was mere comfort. But either way, she walked faster now, followed by her handmaiden, her Queensguard, and the Elven Prince.

Her children’s cages were outside the house she slept in the last few days. The leathers they had used to cover the cages were burnt to a crisp, and the people guarding the cages looked fearful. Some were nursing burns.

Dany looked at them apologetically, as she let go of Legolas’ hands and ran towards Drogon’s cage. She unclasped it free, and once the dragon roared from inside his cage, jumping onto Dany’s shoulder, everyone took a step back. Everyone except Ser Jorah and Legolas. Drogon was the biggest from birth; he had red and black coloured scales, with red-black wings and sharp little talons, that he dug onto his mother’s shoulder. Her handmaidens had fashioned her a strap to wear to protect her skin from their talons, but she was not wearing it now. Mildly wincing it pain, she bore it, so the dragon could nuzzle her hair and smell her scent. She hushed him, speaking soothing words in Valyrian, as she freed Viserion, and lastly, Rhaegal.

When she turned to face Legolas, she had three dragons in her arms. Rhaegal had green and bronze scales, but his wings were yellow-orange. Viserion, was cream and gold, with red-orange wings. Legolas didn’t seem at all frightened. In fact, he stepped closer and closer, until Drogon was hissing and snapping at him. That made him halt, but he was already closer than anyone else had ever been. Dany smiled at his courage, and shushed Viserion as Legolas reached cautiously to stroke his head. The dragon was surprisingly receptive of that, which made Dany smile.

From a distance, she and Legolas looked like siblings. Or, perhaps, like Targaryen couple-siblings. Both beautiful, silver haired, and with dragons surrounding them. Viserion was liking the attention and found himself on Dany’s arms to get closer to Legolas.

The two of them seemed to be lost in their own little world, until they heard approaching hooves.

“Hîr nín, Legolas,” Dany and Legolas looked up to find Lúthon on his horse. Dany smiled up at the elf, who bowed his head at her. “Queen Daenerys.” His eyes went back to Legolas, who now had his back to Viserion. The dragon was trying to gnaw at his hair, to get his attention. Dany was laughing quietly, trying to make him stop.

“Your father demands you return to the Realm immediately, my Lord.” Legolas looked back at Dany, and she was still smiling. “I will only leave if the Queen can leave with me.”

He was asking her. She could see it in his eyes

He likes me, she found herself smiling wider. “Must we leave now? It is so late, and I am tired. My children have had a very trying day. Let us rest, and we shall ride out first light.”

The Elven Prince turned back to the rider. He seemed to grow even taller. “You heard the Queen. Go. Tell my father to expect us.” Lúthon bowed his head, and took his leave, yelling out that same command he did earlier. The wind biting at his heels.

“Do your horses run faster than the average horse?”

The Prince seemed incredibly amused by that. “Only by a few hundred miles.”

Were his ears mistaken, or was Ser Jorah hearing the Queen laugh? 

That night, Legolas watched Daenerys feed her dragons. One by one.

She kissed them goodnight, and placed them back in their cages, reassuring everyone she would not leave them again. She and Legolas joined the others as they dined on Vaes Tolorro’s fruits, horse meat and the Elvish food the King had sent.

Legolas spent the entire evening telling her of the bread, the various plants. The berries, the honey-mead. She could tell that he was very solemn, but lonely. Much like herself. He had much to say, stories to tell. How could he not, when he was hundred of years old? But no one to tell them to, as most of the people around him were elves, who also lived as long as he did, and perhaps shared in some of these stories. Whether this friendship with the Prince blossomed into something else, she was happy to finally have something she always longed for: a friend.

“Do you prefer Khaleesi to Queen?”

Legolas would ask, as he walked her back to her house. She looked up at him, curious. The stars never looked as bright as they did then. “I have been called many things. Princess, for most of my life. But Khaleesi means something more than just a title. I am the first woman to have my own khalasar. I am the first woman to have bloodriders that answer to only me… I suppose that means I prefer Khaleesi.” She stops, just as she reaches the make-shift door they had made for her. “I think, perhaps, you may call me Daenerys, if it would please you, hîr nín, Legolas.”

“You are a fast learner.”

Dany shrugged, but the smirk remained on her lips. “I will make the necessary arrangements for our journey. You must rest.” As he was leaving, she bit her lower lip, and stepped into the moonlight.

“What about you?”

When he turned to face her, he felt like the ground was liquid, all of a sudden.

She glows like the purest, brightest stars in the sky. Brighter than jewels. Purer than diamonds. He has never seen anything like it. From her hair, to her toes; she glows.

Woodland Elves worship the stars above all else…

And Daenerys seems to be the brightest of all.

Was that the fire star, flying above her head?

“Do you not rest?”

She’s biting her lower lip, playing with the tips of her fingers. It took him a minute longer to process his words. To think straight, and not be dazzled by the ethereal beauty of this creature. He is convinced, now, more than ever, that she is not entirely of this world.

“Good night, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys watched him leave with a heavy heart, but a smile on her lips.

When she laid down to sleep next to Jhiqui and Irri, she was all a-flutter. They were already asleep, as she had sent them to bed long ago, so she was not bombarded with questions. For that, she was glad. For she fell asleep within minutes of laying down. She dreamt of Elven Princes and Woodland Realms. Of waterfalls, dragons singing up above and laughing children with amethyst eyes and long ears.

Chapter Text

That morning, Dany rose in time to watch the sun rise.

Before they discovered Vaes Tolorro, she had been far too preoccupied with finding shelter, keeping her people alive and living through to the end of the day. She hadn’t had the chance to admire how beautiful the sunrise was in the Red Waste, depending on your perspective. With nothing in sight except barren land, the sun seemed to be closer. Bigger and brighter. If she looked at it the right way, she felt almost as if she could touch it. She was enjoying standing on the roof of the house she claimed, having climbed onto the top through the rubble of the second floor, reaching for it with her hands, as the early morning wind swept through her hair.

“It’s surprisingly beautiful, isn’t it?”

Ser Jorah calls out from underneath her, and when she meets his eyes, she smiles down at him. “I had not noticed it until now. It’s breath-taking.” He wasn’t looking at the sun when he agreed.

“Would you break your fast with me, khaleesi?”

“I wou—” In the distance, she spots Legolas, standing on the broken city gates, as if scouting for something in the distance. He raises his left arm. Whether he was waving or beckoning her to him, she could not tell. “Forgive me, Ser Jorah. But I am afraid that shall have to wait.” He helped her down, so her handmaidens could get her dressed for travel. Dany no longer owned anything that was nice; certainly not nice enough to meet a King. Judging by Legolas’ clothes, they were lavish, as any King ought to be. Her hair was braided, and she wore little bells in them. One for each victory. So far, she counted surviving the Red Waste and the perils and challenges that she has faced as victories. “You and silver-haired man would make beautiful children, khaleesi.” Dany smiled, as Irri finished dressing her. “Don’t be silly, Irri. I doubt he would marry an outsider.” The two girls exchanged looks and burst into fits of giggles. “You do not see the way he looks at you, khaleesi?” She tried not to smile too hard at the girls’ insistence that Legolas had any kind of romantic interest in her. They were laughing amongst themselves when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Legolas stepped through the door, looking just as he had the previous day, though she did not know whether he had slept. Do elves sleep? She made a mental note to ask him that, later, and actually get a response out of him this time. He seemed to be aware of what her handmaidens were giggling about, as they bowed their way out of the room. He had a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as he waited until they were alone, before addressing Dany. “Good morning.” She gestured towards the edge of the bed they made out of furs for her, but he shook his head. “How do you say good morning in your language?”

“Quel amrun.”

Dany tried it in her own voice and accent: “Quel amrun.” He seemed amused by it, and she took mild offence to it, rising from her seat. “Does my Elvish,” there was a questioning look in her eyes — he motioned with his head, and she assumed that meant that was the correct name for the language. “—not please you, my prince?”

“I think it could with some practise, but you did well for a first try.” She shook her head, laughing quietly to herself.

“I trust that you slept well?”

“I am rested, thank you. You look…”

He seemed to be stuck. Confused, even. Daenerys found that it was as amusing as it was endearing. For the first time in her life, she is the experienced one. “You are not very good at this, are you?” Legolas was even more confused, it seemed. “I—”

“I was married to a very… blunt man. You do not need to flatter me. In fact, I much prefer that you do not. I hate to be treated as if I am nothing more than a pretty little thing.” He watched her, as she moved about the room. Like a curious dog watches its owner as it goes about his/her day. He was quiet, and it was unsettling. Dany assumed that as an elf thing. They seemed to lack the restlessness of men.

“You look rested,” Legolas said at last, and Dany was glad he couldn’t see the smile that earned him, as she had her back turned on him.

“I had pleasant dreams,” she told him.

There was a pause, and he asked her: “What of?”

She turned to face him with a smile he could not decipher. “That, my Lord Legolas, is mine to keep.” He wanted to tell her that he wished for her to share her dreams with him, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and her Queensguard stepping in.

Ser Jorah looked disgruntled, particularly at the presence of the the elf, before addressing his Queen. “Khaleesi, we are ready to move. The riders await your call.” Dany took a deep breath in. “My children?”

“We have loaded the cages on the best horses the elves have provided us.” Dany looked around the room, then. The walls were crumbling, but some things were surprisingly… whole. “I think I will miss this place.” It’s the first time I felt safe in months; she thinks to herself. Ser Jorah seemed to understand that, for he was nodding his agreement. “Perhaps we could stay longer, khaleesi,” he seemed intent on that. Dany met his eyes and could see the ferocity in which he stood between her and the elf.

“King Thranduil sent us food, refreshments, and his help, Ser Jorah. It would be rude to keep him waiting.” She spoke in Dothraki, and it seemed to be enough to quieten Ser Jorah.

Legolas was so still that Dany almost forgot he was still in the room. As she stepped around Ser Jorah, she found herself surprised to see him standing there. Still and quiet as a tree. “Will you ride with me?” He made it sound as if he was asking her for her hand. She smiled at him, as she gave him the most enthusiastic ‘yes’ she had ever given in her entire life.

 This time, however, Dany rode her silver.

Legolas wanted her to ride with him, so they’d arrive sooner, at first, but something in the wind had seemed to change his mind, and he seemed to be in less of a hurry. Somehow, she could not shake off the feeling that he seemed to be on the watch for something. Something not good, at that. Dany refused to leave her people behind, even with a small envoy now guiding them through the Red Waste, and she definitely would not abandon her dragons again. Not knowing how they had reacted to her absence. And as they had not yet learned how to fly long distances, she’d have to have them carried by horse.

The first three days of the journey were smooth.

They made camp during the night, kept themselves nourished with elven bread and honey-mead, and carried on through the day. Her people seemed to be invigorated. Legolas, however, seemed to be hiding something from Daenerys, and she did not like it. But it wasn’t until the fourth day’s morning that she had decided to confront him.

Drogon and Viserion were perched on each of her shoulders, with Rhaegal remaining asleep on his cage by Dany’s tent, as she made her way to where Legolas had spent the evening standing watch. However, she never reached him, nor had the chance to give him a piece of her mind. Just as she was about to open her mouth, an arrow flew by her, missing by only a few inches, so close that she felt it against her ear. Drogon let out a screech and roared fire in the direction of the arrow; Dany’s immediate reaction was to duck, throwing herself on the ground. Legolas was by her side soon after, bow and arrow in hand. “We must leave,” he used his body as a shield, as his eyes searched the grounds. There were rocks in the distance, big enough for someone to use as cover. Her children seemed to be convinced to stand guard by her side, growling at the wind. They may not be much bigger than fat cats, but they were still fierce, protective creatures. “What?” Dany was confused, angry, and whispering, as Legolas held her near.

It was then that he looked down at her, at last, and she could see his eyes had darkened significantly. He had an expression on his face she had never seen there before. This must be the warrior in him, she wonders. It’s something much more human. Something she recognised.

“Orcs have been hunting us. Well, you. I suspect the dragons drew them. When you were gone, they must’ve sent some kind of odour or signal that attracted them. You did not feel it, as they were not in danger, but the orcs did. I cannot protect your people out in the open, alone, but I sent for reinforcements. They will protect your people. But the sooner you and your dragons are out of the open, the better. Once we reach the forest borders, you will be safer. I’ll return and escort your people back myself.”

He didn’t give her a chance to process his words. Another arrow flew by, but Legolas’ reflexes were quicker than the arrow; he threw her aside, gently, somehow, and the dragons, so that it hit a rock behind them, instead.

“I promise, Daenerys.”

The way he said her name as he helped her up from the ground washed away all the doubt and fear she had in her. She nodded weakly and scooped her dragons up into her arms. Legolas stood in front of her, and from where they were, he hit his mark.

She’s not sure how he had even seen this orc creature, from how far they were. But he did, because Dany heard it. He then grabbed her by her arm, and led her to where his horse awaited, but just as he was helping her mount it, she grabbed his hand. “Rhaegal. He’s still in the camp. By my tent.” Legolas didn’t need her to convince him that she would not leave him behind, and nodded as he jumped up behind her, this time. His arms were around her, now, as he reached for the reigns, and she held her children close, cooing to soothe them.

Legolas’ horse was like lighting, racing across the Red Waste. She barely had the chance to speak a word to a puzzled Irri, who was talking to Ser Jorah. “Release the dragon, now!” Legolas spoke in Dothraki, making Dany widen her eyes as she glanced back at him. Irri was startled into action, doing as the prince commanded. The Dothraki follow strength. Dany knew what to do almost immediately, as if she was synced with the elf, once Rhaegal’s cage was open. “Up, Rhaegal! Here!” She commanded in Valyrian; the dragon tilted his head at her and managed to fly the short distance to the horse. Dany had him nestled in her arms, as his siblings settled each on a shoulder. This time, at least, she was wearing the straps to protect her skin.

“There are orcs nearby. They’re hunting the Queen and her children. Be on the watch. These are vicious creatures.” Legolas spoke to Ser Jorah, who was still staring wildly at Dany. “Khaleesi?” Dany did not wish to leave him behind, but she had to make sure her people were protected. That her handmaidens were kept safe.

“It’s true, Ser Jorah. The arrows missed me but for an inch,” the knight reached for his sword hilt almost immediately; protective, as ever. “Legolas’ horse is the fastest. I can’t risk my children. Please, keep the girls safe. Keep my people safe. I am commanding and trusting you to keep them safe.” There were tears in her eyes, as she spoke to him, and she wasn’t sure it was because she was afraid or because she hated the idea of leaving her people behind — but Dany was a mother before she was anything else, and she’d dare not let these creatures, whose faces she had not even seen yet, harm her dragons. Her children. The only children I will ever have.

Legolas shouted commands in Elvish at soldiers that had arrived earlier that morning, and not long after, they were gone, riding faster than before.

The dragons seemed to enjoy it more than Dany, who could not help but feel this overwhelming guilt inside of her. Legolas seemed determined to get them to the border by nightfall, and she wasn’t going to argue; if he says these creatures are hunting her dragons and that they are dangerous, she trusts him, just as she trusts him to keep them safe.

 Just as night had fallen and the moon shone bright in the sky, Dany could see a line where the Red Waste finally came to an end, and the world was surrounded by a never-ending line of thick trees. They rode straight towards it, though the pace of the horse, who did not seem to tire, seemed to slow the closer they got, until they were close enough for the scent of thick vegetation to hit Dany like a punch to the gut. She could hear the sound of life coming from the trees, and her dragons were curious and eager to find out what this new and strange place was; all they had ever known was the Red Waste. She was excited for the prospect of showing them something more. Something else. Life. Trees.

As the horse came to a halt, Legolas finally seemed to let go of the breath he had been holding. He seemed more tense than she was, and she was the one who left her people behind. She shifted somewhat on the horse, so she could turn to watch him, and she had half a mind to touch his cheek and assure him that the worse was behind them now. It was a need she did not accept. To comfort him, even if his face did not show anything.

“Hîr nín, Legolas,” came a female voice from the shadows.

Her voice came from the trees, and she jumped from high up, falling on her feet like some kind of giant cat. This was the first female Elf Dany had seen so far. And she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Dany was immediately taken by her, but she looked at her suspiciously. Particularly as her eyes settled upon the dragons, all six amber eyes watching her curiously.

“Tauriel.”

More elven-warriors jumped from the trees, except not all of them had their faces uncovered. Many wore helmets, as if they were ready for war. Perhaps they were expecting a hoard. What a Dothraki hoard we must be, indeed.  

They exchanged many words in Elvish. Tauriel mentioned the King’s name a few times, and more than once, threw pointed looks in Dany’s directions. Until, finally, Legolas dismounted his horse, helping Dany do the same without disturbing the dragons. “Khaleesi, this is Tauriel, Captain of my father’s army. She will escort you to my father.”

“You aren’t coming?” Dany’s hand grabbed hold of Legolas’ arm. Their eyes met, and she wanted to beg him to not leave her. These elves did not look to be as welcoming and friendly as Legolas had been. “I made you a promise, did I not?”

Under the moonlight, he looked so lovely.

And so did she.

Dany was pained to part with him, but she knew that her people would be safer with Legolas guiding them.

Dany nodded, though weakly, and let of his arm. Perhaps, if they were different people, they would’ve exchanged more than longing looks. The moment certainly called for it. Dany was afraid, trusting Legolas and these Woodland elves more than she should. More than she had ever trusted anyone. She was about to step into a new Realm. A new land. Follow these elves into a dark forest, without her Queensguard or her bloodriders, but it’s the look in Legolas’ eyes. The certainty in them. 

“Come back to me, Legolas of the Woodland Realm,” she breathed, in her mother tongue.

He seemed to understand it enough. As he bid Tauriel to treat her as she would himself, Legolas mounted his horse, when his back was turned to Daenerys and her children, he muttered to himself: I will return to you, starlight.

 Daenerys watched Legolas until she could no longer see him.

He rode off into the night, to bring her people to safety, and she was left alone with these elves that she did not know. She finally turned to face Tauriel, who watched her in silence, as her children began to protest. She felt watched beyond anything she had ever experienced. “They are hungry,” she exclaimed, as she tried to calm the dragons. “What do they eat?” Tauriel asked her, as Dany walked towards the warrior.

“Meat.”

She nodded and turned to the archer nearest her. She gave him orders in Elvish, and he was gone, disappearing up into the trees. They moved so effortlessly, like their bodies held no weight.

“I’m afraid we shall have to go on foot.” Dany was tired from riding all day, but she nodded, and followed the elf into the forest.

It was dark. The air was heavier. The trees were the densest and thickest Dany had ever seen, taller than any trees she had seen in Essos, as well. Every step she took, she heard something crunching under her feet. Her dragons were coiled up in her arms, and her muscles ached at one point, but she dares not let go of them. They needed the support just as much as she did. She would be foolish not to be frightened. She wished for Legolas. For Ser Jorah. For her kos. But she had her dragons, and that must be enough to give her strength.

Tauriel wasn’t much for talking, she noted. They seemed to be following a path the elf knew well, and Dany would not dare argue, but as they found themselves going deeper into the forest, she saw webs covering certain trees, and her dragons grew wearier. They could sense things Dany could not, so she trusted their instincts. But they were well protected. Every now and then, Dany could see and hear the shadow of an elf moving above their heads, up on tree branches, and all around them, she knew there were escorts.

“What is your King like?” In the hopes of breaking the silence, she asked the first thing that came to mind. There was no immediate response. “He is fair.” Not much for small talk, indeed. But Dany pushes on. “Fair enough to take me, my children, and my people in?” At that, the elf stopped walking to glance back at Dany. Just enough of the moon's light escaped through the thick trees to shine on her face. “He did invite you, did he not?” Dany stopped, too. Drogon and Rhaegal had fallen asleep in her arms, whilst Viserion seemed to stand watch on her left shoulder, but he too, kept dozing off. “That means little.”

Was the elf smiling?

She couldn’t be.

They fell back into silence, but not soon after, the soldier Tauriel had sent to hunt returned with three skinned rabbits in his hands. He seemed somewhat disgusted by it but handed them to Dany. She thanked him and sat down by a tree root the length of her leg and the width of two of her, to wake her children. By now, she had taught them the Valyrian word for dragon fire, and thus, she taught them how to cook their own food. They would not eat raw meat, and so, with the command, they’d burn it, and then they’d eat it from her hand.

The elves were all watching her, she knew.

Everyone always stopped to watch when she fed them. They found it fascinating. Dragons were fascinating creatures. Where she comes from, they had not been seen for many years. But here, she gets the sense that it was not the case.

Soon after they had eaten, they fell asleep, and Dany had every intention of waking them, to keep pushing on, but it only took a minute, and she too, had fallen asleep. The heat of the Red Waste sun and the pure exhaustion of all the excitement of the day had worn her off, but in truth, she had an overwhelming tiredness. Her eyelids were too heavy, and she fell asleep as easy as she breathed in, her last conscious thoughts having been of Legolas' eyes, as he walked away from her.

She fell asleep between two tree roots, with her dragons curled up against her sides. Viserion and Rhaegal curled up on top of each other, pressed on one side. And Drogon curled up on her chest, near her heart. She looked such a peaceful image, asleep with her baby dragons. So young, beautiful and peaceful; one would never think that she was the blood of the dragon itself.

Fire and blood.

 “You’re going to wake her.”

“I just wish to see her—”

“She’s asleep!”

“She has been sleeping for days!”

Dany sat up on a bed so comfortable it was as if she had been asleep on clouds. Drogon was asleep, curled up by her feet. Rhaegal by her pillow, and Viserion was chewing something on the floor. When she looked up, she saw Tauriel at the door, and a head of silver hair. She sat up immediately, nearly falling off the bed. “Legolas!”

But Tauriel turned around, slamming the door shut.

“Not Legolas, Your Grace. One of the guards wished to see you. Rumours spread; it would seem.”

“Oh.”

Mostly, she was disappointed it wasn’t Legolas. But then, the memory that she had fallen asleep somewhere else, hit her. “Wait. What h—”

Tauriel was suddenly in front of her, offering a glass of something that looked like milk, but definitely did not taste like it.

Dany was definitely a lot more awake after she drank it.

“You stepped on a plant that makes you… well, sleep. It does not affect our kind so much, but humans are far more sensitive to it. You were asleep for four days. Your dragons were fed. The Prince should be arriving soon.”  

She was feeling a little disoriented, but Tauriel answered all of her questions. Mostly. She still wondered about her people, but she supposes the Captain doesn’t have anything concrete to tell her. “Thank you.” She could not tell whether it was day or night, but she could tell she was somewhere that seemed to be underground, almost. There was no light of day or night, but there was air. Clean and light, unlike that of the forest. There were all kinds of different scents mingled in the air. The room she was in was elegant but held to it a kind of natural simplicity that was beautiful and artistic.

The ceilings were high, and the room was clearly made for someone of high birth. Dany had only ever seen a room like this when she had been in merchants’ houses, though none of them held a candle to this; they had been lavish, yes, but this was something else entirely. Her eyes were taking everything around her in, and Tauriel had seemed to be giving her time to adjust, but eventually, the Captain spoke.

“Your Grace, if you are feeling well enough, the King requests your presence this eve.”

Dany looked down at her leathers. They were beyond dirty. The white sheets she laid on had grown somewhat brown; she had never paid much mind to such things. Not anymore. The Dothraki lived on the road, out in the Grass Sea, and so she had grown used to that kind of life. But now, in this room, having been invited to join a King? She knows there is an image she must present. Her brother had instilled that into her, at least. The day she had met Khal Drogo, before their marriage, he had her scrubbed so hard her skin was crimson red for days.

“I have nothing to wear.” Tauriel then disappeared into an adjacent room, coming back with a gown held between her arms. It seemed to gleam under the light. The material was light. Beautiful beyond anything she had ever worn. Dany was immediately interested, climbing off the bed; once her feet touched the ground, she had to sit back down. Her head was a little… out of place. She rubbed her temples and felt a cool hand on her shoulder. Tauriel was closer now, the dress having been put on the bed, as the elf felt her temperature. “You still need rest. I will tell the King you are still feeling—”

“No. No. I’ll be fine. Please tell the King I would be honoured to join him,” she smiled at the elf, before standing, much more firmly, by herself.

Tauriel didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded. “He asked if you would like assistance.” Dany considered this for some time. She wasn’t sure whether it would be rude to deny the assistance of what she presumed to be elven handmaidens, but she was also curious to know what they would be like, so she accepted.

Tauriel left, and once Dany was left alone, she explored every inch of the room.

The elvish craftsmanship was indeed something out of this world; or at least, of her world. There were inscriptions carved on the walls and some objects, and she burned with the need to know what they said. Her dress looked as if it had been sewn by fairies with tiny hands, for the tiniest of details looked to be far too delicate to have been made by human-sized hands. Everything was so perfect, it had to be some kind of dream. She’d wake up hours later in the Red Waste, still starving, dehydrated. Her people dying.

Her people.

Here she is, taken by luxury, lavishing in it, when they are out there. Her heart aches as she feels this pang in her chest. If only she could leave this place and go in search of them, but she knows she would not make it far. She glanced at Viserion, and he looked up at her, as she scooped him up into her arms. He made noises as she talked with him. If only you could take me to them, my darling.

“Your Grace?”

Dany turned around so suddenly Viserion made a noise, startling his brothers. She turned around to face the voice, to find a young-looking elf, with hair the colour of Tauriel’s, but she had much kinder, green eyes, smiling at her. She wore simpler clothes than Legolas, Tauriel, or any of the soldiers Dany had seen so far, but beautiful, nonetheless. They were grey and blue.

“I am Ruindolneth, these are my sisters: Eithril and Nîngwen. We are here to assist you in whatever you may need.” A dark haired, tall elf had joined Ruindolneth on her left, and a fiery-haired one had joined her on her right. All three of them bowed before her. Dany smiled at them, laughing when she approached with Viserion still in her arms, for they stepped back, fearful of the dragon in her arms. “Worry not. He will not harm you if I do not command it.” She put Viserion down on the bed with his siblings, reassured them she’d be back soon, and joined the elven maidens in the other room.

There was a tub unlike any she had ever seen.

The room was wider than she had expected, and it looked much as a washroom ought to, except for things Dany could not recognise nor place. Ruindolneth seemed to be the oldest, or the others were too timid. She was the one who spoke, and guided Dany. Her sisters were speechless as they moved around Dany, helping her to undress. Her leathers were picked up by them, and once she stood naked before Ruindolneth, the girl helped Dany climb into the tub that looked more like a pool.

The water was warm, and so very pleasant. Flowers floated on the surface, and she was hit with a thousand different floral scents, at once.

Ruindolneth let her settle in the water, and once her eyes were shut and her back rested against the back of the tub, she felt delicate hands working on the knots of her shoulders. That felt absolutely heavenly, and Dany let out an embarrassing sound. The hands behind her giggled, and she smiled at the sound.

Much like she did with her handmaidens, Dany encouraged the girls to talk. To feel comfortable in her presence. She questioned the girls about the King, and Eithril seemed most eager to talk about him. She came alive as she scrubbed Dany’s arms and legs, as Ruindolneth cleaned and clipped Dany’s nails, massaging her hands with a soothing lotion that made it felt softer, as well as her feet.

According to Eithril, the King was tall. As handsome as he was ill-tempered, but he threw incredible parties, and had the most amazing wine. Dany reassured them she had tasted it, and the girls told her she had only had the honey-mead. They were tastier wines to be had. And food.

She learned Legolas was an only child. That he mostly kept to himself, if not with Tauriel, and spent most of his time outside, exploring. Nîngwen seemed to think Legolas had no intention of taking the crown. Ever. Which usually only happened if the King died or left to the Undying Lands. Dany was most curious about the Undying Lands, and the girls only seemed to tell them parts of it. She also learned of the Queen’s tragic fate, and of the King’s past with a fire-drake of the North. (Dany had learned the fire-drakes were Endor’s version of a dragon, but they were usually bigger and could… well, talk.)

The more she learned of this land, and of its people, the more fascinated she was.

By the time the girls had finished cleaning her from head to toe, scrubbing her so much that she glowed pink, Dany was given a robe that made her feel warm and dry almost at once, she had never felt cleaner. Her hair was silky smooth. She felt lighter, even, and she smelled much like she'd imagine a fairy garden would. She had half a mind to steal these handmaidens to herself.

They spoke of the evening’s gathering. The King was fond of throwing parties, and would find any motive to do so.

Tonight, he was throwing a party for Erintion, for its second half, as it was the Valië of love, music and beauty. Ruindolneth was convinced this was happening in honour of Dany. She seems to have become somewhat of a legend, even amongst these legendary people. They already had stories and songs about the Mother of Dragons, of her beauty and splendour. Some spoke of how she had arrived with the passing of the bleeding star, or the star of fire, as some called it. Some spoke of her resemblance to the Queen, and how albeit the King had not yet seen her, he had heard the stories, also. Some spoke of the herald of her coming. The colourful flowers that have blossomed since her arrival.

Dany could listen to the three girls giggling and talking all night. They sang Elvish songs to her, as they combed and braided her hair into a side plait, which they arranged over her bare shoulder, placing white flowers in the place of bells, questioning the meaning and usefulness of them, as they did. They bathed her in perfumes, also, and gave her slippers that felt as soft and light as air itself. It felt like wonders to her feet. Her blisters seemed to have disappeared, already. She’s certain that the bath and lotions had something to do with it.

When it finally came to wearing the dress, Dany almost didn’t want to.

It felt like something an Elvish Queen ought to wear, and she was just a woman. A human woman, at that. But she must, for it was the King’s gift, and she could not possibly deny such a gift, could she? She has to remind herself that she is the blood of the Dragon. A Queen. Re-birthed from fire. She should not fear a gown, much less a King; elven or not. 

The gown was white, the same colour as the flowers in her hair. It was made of a material Dany could only deem as of Elvish make, for it was light and soft. It fit like it was made for her. It had dagged sleeves that touched the ground, and the bodice was embroidered with what looked like silver lines that gleamed as she moved in the light. It was cinched at the waist with a belt of silver tree lines and leaves. The skirts were of such a light make, they looked like falling waterfalls of crystalized water. As Dany moved, the fabric moved with her. Her shoulders were left bare, as the gown was off-the-shoulders. The maidens took a step back, and they all gasped at the sight. She was pretty sure Nîngwen was wiping tears from her eyes. “You look like starlight! So beautiful!” They sang praises at her, and as they handed her a mirror, she could not deny that they were right. This was indeed the most beautiful gown she had ever worn, and she did indeed look her best. Her hair was incredible, the dress fits her perfectly. But something did not feel right; she is worried sick about her people. And Ser Jorah, and her bloodriders. And Legolas. As she smooths her hands over the bodice of the gown, she wonders if Legolas would like it.

“My dragons will need—”

“The King told us to reassure you that the doors will be guarded, and they will have all the food they can eat. He also promised us you will be free to return early, should you miss them.”

He really has thought of everything, hasn’t he?

Well, don’t be stupid. He wants something from you.

Don’t they all?

She bid the dragons goodbye, and they all protested, but once she gave them a large chunk of an animal she could not distinguish, they seemed distracted enough for her to leave. “I am ready as I’ll ever be,” she left the room arm-in-arm with Ruindolneth and Eithril, and they hadn’t walked long before she could hear merry music and laughter, and she was excited, though she could not help but feel a little as she did the day she had been presented to Khal Drogo; to see whether she was of his taste. A suitable wife.

Dany hopes, against all hopes, that she does not come to regret any of this.

Chapter Text

It is so very easy to be taken by gifts and sweet promises. Her brother had learned that lesson, the hard way. Dany thought she knew it by heart, but she was discovering the world as a woman who belonged to no one but herself. For the first time in her life, since birth, she is truly free. Free to make mistakes, if her choices would lead her down such paths, but nonetheless, she is to free to make these choices, herself. It is a thing she had always wanted: freedom.

Freedom, as beautiful a thing as it is, is dangerous.

Dany finds herself in this place she feels she does not belong, but she’s taken away by the beauty and the glamour of it. Woodland elves seem to know how to party. The music can be heard all across the magnificent castle; if it could be called a castle. The Common Tongue seems to fail when it comes to presenting a word that would describe what this stronghold is. Dany knows one thing, for certain. It is a thing of beauty. Without doubt.

It is no house with the red door, and the lemon tree. Nothing would perhaps compare to that feeling of home, as she had had then. Perhaps, only when she sails across the Narrow Sea, and takes back that which was rightfully hers. But, it’s beautiful.

And she could see herself having a life here. Her people, too. She’s not sure how, but she can see it. They’d work, just as they do. But Dany could not be Queen of a people she did not belong to. This much, she knows. They may speak of her in legends, and even sing songs of her dragons and her beauty, but that does not make her an elf. Nothing would ever make her one of them. As welcoming as they had been, she knows these are through orders. Fear, perhaps, as well. Dany’s mind is half here, half with her children. Should they be in danger, gods know she is certain they’d burn these walls made out of wood to the ground.

The architecture of this place defies Daenerys’ understanding of how the world works.

And there are a lot of stairs. The lack of walls between places makes it seem like they’re inside a massive tree trunk, and something inside of her has an inkling that nothing would prove otherwise. She has witnessed these beings do things that she would otherwise seem impossible, if she were not witnessing them with her own eyes — and if she were not, herself, the stuff of legend.

When they reach the doors from which all the music and laughter comes from, there are guards standing before them. The girls announce her presence, in the Common Tongue, and the guards, step aside, the doors opening by themselves.

Dany now finds herself in a massive open space.

As she looked up, the moon and the stars provided most of the light, and my, were they bright! And so near! The floor was of white marble, trickled in with a grass so green it looked edible. There were candles everywhere, massive tables with food and drinks. Servants, walking around the talking, laughing guests, with drinks being offered and poured. There was so much happening, all at once.

But as soon as Dany stepped into the open-air room, everything seemed to slow down.

The music continued to play, but the laughter and the loud talking became hushed whispers. People glanced at her. Some gawked and stared. But, there, at the very end, near a marble balcony before a waterfall, stood the King. He had his back turned to her, and people around him were slowly turning to stare at Dany, as well. A man by his side whispered something to him, before he turned around, slowly. Dany knew he was the King because he wore the most elegant and beautiful clothes in the room. An embroidered cloak that screamed royalty, and atop his flowing silver-gold head, he wore a crown, worthy of a Woodland elf.

Slowly, the King turned, to face his honoured guest.

Daenerys stood by the door, the maidens by her sides. One of them, nudged her forward, until she stepped into the light of the moon, and all of a sudden, she was glowing. She’s not sure whether it’s the gown, or something else, or maybe both? Her hair is glowing, her arms are glowing. She’s like starlight made flesh, and everyone, including the King, is staring.

She isn’t sure she’s much too fond of all this attention. But she is Queen, is she not? Mother of Dragons. This is who she is. What, she is. She has to embrace it, has to be, it. So she stands tall, chin high, and eventually, smiles.

Ruindolneth steps forward, and bows before the King, as she announces: “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. First of her name, blood of Old Valyria, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, my King.” Dany smiled at her, winking at the elven maid as she looked up at Dany; she had done incredibly well. Her amethyst eyes are then focused on the King, and the King only.

He hands the elf that had whispered to him his glass, and stepped forward, so the moonlight touched him, too. Everyone else seemed to give them space, so that they stood across opposite ends of the bridge separating them from the edge of the marble balcony. Neither of them seemed to be paying anyone else much mind, regardless — Daenerys had been sure that Legolas was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes upon. Now, she cannot help but think how absurdly wrong she was. Legolas was no less beautiful than he was before, that was certain, but King Thranduil was beyond comprehension.

Dany had been breathless when she met Legolas; she’s pale and rosy at the same time, now. Burning with something she had never felt before. She would faint, if she were not as strong as she was. He, much like Legolas, was stoic. But, as they stared at each other, slowly, he broke into a small smirk, approaching her, slowly.

Gods be good.

Suddenly, she’s naught but a maiden. Young and stupid and naïve.

“Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.” His voice was deep and ran like honey down her back. He spoke to her, and to her only, and suddenly he was close enough to touch. He was much taller than her, so much so that she had to tilt her head upwards to look up at him. His eyes were bluer than his son’s. Was such a thing even possible? Gods be good. He reached for her left hand. His touch was the gentlest she had ever felt. His skin cool to her burning hot flesh. She burns hot these days; as her dragons grow stronger, she burns hotter. “Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” he continued, in his baritone voice, just before he brushed his soft lips against her knuckles. She tells herself that to fall in lust with a creature this physically beautiful was perfectly normal. That anyone with eyes and ears would melt as easily as she did; that yes, she is a Queen, but she is also human. “The tales of your beauty do not do you justice.”

He wants your dragons, you fool. Not you. “Your kindness knows no bounds, Your Grace,” she breathed, her voice sounding steadier than she felt. Any minute now, her knees would give in. She was sure of it. He seemed amused at that. His blue eyes twinkled, with a mischief in them that made her tremble and ache.

“Your gratitude is misplaced. I have not brought you here out of the kindness in my heart. But we shall discuss all of that later. Now, gilgalad, we celebrate.”

The King had her hand in his, as he stood by her side, and announced to his people that the Mother of Dragons was an honoured guest, and they would be celebrating her arrival, tonight. He spoke in Elvish, but toasted to her in the Common Tongue, and she somehow found herself holding a drink, just as the King’s had been returned to his hand, as well. He had the same look in his eyes as he met hers, as the King’s court and guests toasted to Daenerys’ and the King’s health.

Everyone that was present wanted to meet Daenerys.

They were all excited. But the King did not leave her side. Dany found herself cornered in, listening to different threads of conversation. Trying to keep up. But she was pressed up against the King’s side, overwhelmed, and when she heard his voice in her ear, his breath caressing her neck, she could not focus on anything, but the King’s tempting words: “Will you walk with me, gilgalad?”

The King excused himself, and not a second after, Dany joined him.

She drank her wine, which was something very different from honey-mead, but as equally life-altering, all at once, placing the empty cup on a nearby ledge, as she followed the King towards a stone path on a hidden corner at the edge of the balcony, nearest to the waterfall. They seemed to walk right under the stones, past the water, but neither were touched by it, and past a short walk of darkness in a cavern, before coming out into a beautiful garden.

Everything was vibrant colours. Bright-coloured butterflies flew all around her. She watched a huge white hare follow one into a stream of transparent waters. She ran towards it, holding the skirts of her dress as she stared at her reflection in the water.

Dany felt like a child; easily fascinated. Easily distracted. But everything was new to her. This world. These people. Every time she thought she had seen it all, and things could not possibly become more, she’d find that she could not be more wrong.

“When you call yourself the Blood of Old Valyria, do you mean it?”

The King was suddenly seen in the reflection in the water, standing behind her. Dany was startled, but soon recovered, turning to look at him. If not for the long, pointy ears, she’d claim him a relative of hers. Was it arrogant of her, then, to be so taken by him.

“My ancestors were of Old Valyria. We sailed across the Sea and claimed another land for ourselves.” He watched her more intently than anyone ever had. As if she was the only thing that interested him in the world. “That must have been eons ago. Generations upon generations before you.”

I feel like a child before this elf.

“We… have a tradition, of keeping the bloodline pure. Brothers have been marrying sisters since then. My father was my mother’s brother.” She is ashamed of that, and so, she turns her back on the King.

“Were they… such as yourself?”

She had a feeling he meant something else. Dany shook her head, then realising he could not see, turned to face him again. “No. I am the first to carry the blood of the dragon in me. For some time, I think. My family grew comfortable in their rule. Our dragons died out, for they never had the room or chance to grow. My father grew mad. We wasted away.” These were not her brother’s words. These were things she knew, from her heart, from the knowledge she had.

The King watched her in silence, for a minute or two. He had that in common with Legolas, it seemed. It was different, telling the King about her story, than it was with Legolas.

It was different simply being in the King’s presence.

It was his turn to turn away. He brushed the ring on his little finger across his lower lip, as he watched his reflection on the water. Dany, in turn, took the time to take in every detail about him. From the details on his clothes to the way he held himself. She had half a mind to touch his cloak, but instead, sated herself by standing near him, watching him. He smells earthy, too. As Legolas did. But his scent was muskier. More masculine. More… enticing and alluring. She wonders if this is the kind of scent males give out to females when they are in heat.

When he finally looks at her again, there’s something different in his eyes.

Something similar to the looks she sometimes caught a glimpse of across Legolas’ face.

“My son has grown very fond of you, I hear,” she doesn’t look away from him. She cannot. She must not let him think her weak. The Dothraki despite weakness, but she has an inkling that so does Thranduil. “He went back for your people. He rode to the borders with you. He risked himself, went against my orders, to reach you, when he had only heard tales of you. Legolas is not taken by beauty the way most are. I wondered if this was the signs of first love. For a long time I suspected he loved the Captain, but now he seems interested in a Queen. A mortal Queen. Or so, I thought.”

To say that she was confused would be an understatement.

The King read this in her eyes and continued.

“There are legends. Stories, one might say, of an Elven people that were lost. Ventured far beyond lands that we’d dare explore. Elven people who were fair of face, with hair kissed by moonlight, and eyes the colour of violet jewels. The legends spoke of their affinity with the beasts many feared, of how they tamed them, bonded with them in ways none could understand.” Dany understood; or at least, thought she did.

She took a step back. “The blood of the dragon.”

The King gave a tilt of his head, a nod, of sorts, and Dany stared dead on at her reflection in the mirror.

“No. It cannot be. My family— there are no stories— my brother— why would I—”

“Your questions are the same as mine. I did not think these tales to be true, until now. When I saw you walk in, in that gown… I understood.”

“Understood what?”

He approached Daenerys, speaking with a passion that looked misplaced upon such a cold face. “You are the light that was promised. The star that was made flesh; fire sent from the skies to fight the ever-growing darkness. How else would you walk through fire unharmed, and command not one, but three dragons? The bleeding star announced your arrival, and the flowers bloomed brighter. This garden is far more beautiful since you arrived in Mirkwood. I wished to see these dragons of yours with my own eyes, for I know what a fully-grown dragon can do, but now I know that they are not what is special. You are. They, too, are drawn to you. You,” he reached for her cheeks, cool, soft palms cupping her cheeks. She cannot move. She cannot do anything but look up at him, transfixed by his eyes. “—are starlight.”

The air was pure energy.

Kiss me, she screamed in her mind. Kiss me, you beautiful fool. And he wanted to, she could see it in his eyes, as he leaned ever closer. He wanted to kiss her. The maidens had told her that elves mate for life. For love. But this was lust. She felt it in her flesh. Cool flames licking at her flesh.

But he did not kiss her.

And she found herself breathless as he let her go, and took defeated steps backwards, as if she had been singing a sire song and he had finally broken free of her spell. But the thing is, she too, had been under some kind of spell. “Will you stay here, in my kingdom? You will have anything that you require, and your people will be treated well. They will be given shelter, food and work. Your dragons will be safe. Once they are bigger, these woods may be theirs.”

There was something else there. Something left unspoken. The King said it with his eyes, and Dany wanted to rip the gown off her body so she would not overheat.

“Have I anywhere else to go?”

Her voice was weak. A breathless whisper. He seemed content with it and offered her a hand. “Come, gilgalad. Dance with me. The night is young, and I wish for you to party like a woodland elf.”

What could she do but take his hand and let him whisk her away?

Chapter Text

Her world before the Woodland Realm now seems so small.

Daenerys spent summer evenings with her brother, hearing tales of grand places beyond anything that she could dream of. Viserys would often tell her of the Red Keep and Dragonstone. But all of it to a young child who had never seen anything beyond the inside of merchant houses and slaver cities, could only be imagined in a certain... limitedness. 

Viserys would’ve liked this place, she finds herself thinking more than once. He would’ve liked these people. They were well dressed, soft-spoken and well-mannered. And, all beautiful. How could all elves be this fair of face? Surely, it would be impossible for an entire race of people to be beautiful.

But gods, it seemed that it was not so.

King Thranduil was still, however, the most beautiful creature in the room. He introduced Daenerys to many elves, all of high-births, but as they danced, and the moonlight graced the King with its light, she could not help but conclude that none other could compare to the Elven King’s beauty and grace. He made her feel a-flutter in ways that she did not know were possible.

They danced and danced.
They drank and laughed.
He taught her words and phrases in Elvish, and she, taught him a little Valyrian. He was really good at it. He was most interested in the Dothraki people and their ways. Though he did not say it with words, she could tell that he thought of them as savages. Dany had, too, when she first joined them. But it takes time to see that the Dothraki are a simple people. They value strength and respect the Earth. Dany spoke of them, truly, as a Queen who loves her people did. The King was fascinated by that; such a young Queen, and already she had learned the most valuable lesson a monarch could know.

A King and Queen are nothing without their people.

Daenerys did enjoy herself that night.
More than she had expected; this was supposed to be her introduction to the King, the hand that would feed her and her people, for the time being, perhaps. But given the way that Legolas spoke of his father, she had been apprehensive to meet the King. Although, she knew he was being overly charming, she did not find him to be as intimidating as she had first imagined him to be. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be taken away by beauty and grace, but she was naught but a young girl, after all. A lonely young girl.

The King rarely let her out of his sight. He had guards report directly to her about how her children were doing, and even as she was surrounded by curious elves in a corner and he in another, his eyes would be on her. How many times had she caught him staring at her, and when their eyes would meet, he’d smile in that knowing, barely-there way he had? More often than not, she’d laugh quietly and timidly, and he’d come straight over, disbanding the people surrounding her and asking her how it was that her cheeks turned such an enticing shade of pink. She’d blush even harder, and would find herself in his arms seconds later, dancing unknown dances she was getting quite good at.

The few times the King would let her catch her breath, however, someone would come to her, and whisper how alive the King looked. How he never danced with anyone, particularly foreign visitors. How they hadn’t seen him this lively since his wife.

And that would always bring her back to reality.

His wife.

No one would speak of it, but she had died a horrible death, from the way people would talk. She’d feel a pang in her chest; for Legolas, and now, for the King. She’d glance at him and wonder what she was like, this late wife of his. She must’ve been something to behold. Was she young and beautiful? Was she smart? Did she laugh at his subtle jokes? Did she understand him? Did they have a loving relationship? Dany had only been married the once, and alas, it had not been a perfect match at first; she had been sold to her husband, but she had found him to be more than what she had hoped. She knows she had been lucky. Even if adjusting to the Dothraki way of life had been difficult at first, Dany would not have any of it any other way. She learned how to be a good wife for Khal Drogo, and he, in turn, had been a good husband to her.

She misses him. So she can’t help but wonder if Thranduil misses his wife, as well.

When she began to grow tired, she wasn’t sure how long she had been gone. It must’ve been hours. The elves around them showed no sign of tiredness, but Dany was exhausted. She excused herself from the group that had been telling her tales of a war before her time, and as interested as she was, her brain could no longer retain facts in. Standing on the tip of her toes, she was in search of the elven maidens that had dressed her, until she felt a hand on the small of her back.

“Walk straight out of the doors, in thirty beats. Ask the guards to shut them behind you.”

The voice was whispered in her ear, going down her back and making her tremble. She swallowed a lump, and by the time she turned around, the owner of the voice was gone.

Confused, but mostly curious, she did as instructed.

Dany counted thirty beats, and once she was on the last, she left the party. Most of the party guests were either drunk or preoccupied elsewhere to notice her slip by. Luckily for her, she was small, and unless people were looking for her, or at her, they’d miss her, even in this rather attention-grabbing gown she wore. She turned to the guards, and opened her mouth, but they had already shut the doors behind her. From the inside.

So, she was left alone, on the outside.

“Alone, at last.”

She hadn’t immediately recognised his voice when she was in the loud party room, as she had lost sight of him for some time, but that was the King. No doubt. When she turned to face him, he was leaning against the wall, the cloak he had been wearing gone. He wore lavish elvish robes, of a metallic grey colour, embroidered with tiny jewels that sparkled as they met the light, the same way the ones encrusted on her bodice did. His hair was down, and he was no longer wearing his crown. Dany was a little breathless at the sight of him, waiting for her. And they were, indeed, alone.

“You would leave your guests unattended?” He seemed amused by her question. “They have enough wine to keep them entertained for a century.” She laughed, looking down at her hands. She felt more awake now than she did before.

“You did not look to be enjoying yourself anymore,” Dany, once again, was blushing. She avoided the King’s gaze, as she walked towards the wooden ledge of this upper level. She could look down from here, this sort of spiral level of floors and stairs, and see most things, from above. “My people are out there, somewhere, and here I am. At a party. What kind of Queen abandons her people?”

The King was right behind her. She could feel him.

“The kind that knows what is best for her.”

He’s by her side, leaning against the rail in front of her, so she was forced to look at him. He was so close she could see the golden ring around the iris of his eyes. “What good would you be to your people if you were dead?” There were tears stinging her amethyst eyes, and she wanted to cry, but she refused to let them roll down her cheeks. She held them in, with such fervour, her bottom lip trembled.

This seemed to soften the Elven King.

His expression changed, and Dany could see the shadow of a ringed hand reaching for her out of the corner of her eyes; he touched her hair and traced her jaw with the pad of his thumb.

“You said my son promised you that he would keep them safe. That your bloodriders were with them, and your Queensguard, did you not?” She nodded, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. But then he stepped closer, a hand on the back of her shoulder, as the other cupped the side of her neck. “Then your worry is unnecessary, gilgalad. Worry not of that which you can not control. You have led your people across the Red Waste and found us, whilst bearing three live dragons on your shoulders. That is more than any human has ever accomplished.”

When did her hands come to rest upon his chest?

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Her question was barely a whisper. He bent down so he could whisper, too. His hand was now on her hip. His thumb brushing over her chin.

“I do not know.” His dark, thick eyebrows furrowed, as he searched her face, as if trying to understand it himself. “I look at you and I see something I have never seen before, and where most would run and cower in fear of the unknown, your eyes beckon me closer. Gilgalad,” there was a change in his tone as he came ever closer. Dany was on the tip of her toes, her hands on his shoulders.

“You make me feel alive again.”

Daenerys did not need to know Elvish to know that she felt it, too. The language had never sounded so beautiful and poetic as it did coming from his lips, whispered the way that he whispered them to her. He leaned ever closer, but instead of kissing her, he buried his nose in her hair, and inhaled so deeply she felt it. His arms wound around her waist and he pressed her into him. She gasped, as her hands grabbed hold of his arms.

When was the last time she had been held?

Before Drogo fell ill. She forgot what it felt like. To be held by a man who wanted her. Dany’s eyes fell shut and she gave in into the moment.

There was a loud sound that broke the peaceful silence between, and they both broke away from each other as if they had been caught doing something wrong, but not in enough time for Ruindolneth not to see them breaking apart from an intimate moment. The elf looked between the King and Daenerys and found it hard not to smile. “My King,” she bowed. “Queen Daenerys. I was just in search of you.”

Dany cleared her throat, smiling at the elf as she took a step forward. She could feel Thranduil’s eyes on her. “What is it, Ruindolneth?”

“The dragons. They’re, err,” she looks at the King, then back at Daenerys. “They’re burning things? We can’t get them to calm down.”

Dany glanced over her shoulder at Thranduil, who tilted his head.

“I will come with you. Ruindolneth, make sure no one hears of this.” The maid bowed her way back inside, and Thranduil led her down the stairs, the same way Ser Jorah led her places; grabbing hold of her elbow, but far more gently than her sweet bear.

The way back to her chambers was much quicker; the King took her through various rooms and strange doors that seemed to be short cuts. She was a little out of breath by the time he held the last door open for her, and she could immediately hear her children shrieking.

“My children,” she breathed in Valyrian, as she rushed towards the door, where two poor soldiers in full armour were holding shields before themselves, shouting at each other in Elvish.

Dany could feel the heat of dragon fire almost immediately.

Thranduil ordered them to do something, and they stepped back almost immediately, letting her step through. She was greeted by dragon fire on all sides, as soon as she did. The flames licked her skin and singed the flowers in her hair, as well as the beautiful gown she was wearing. But she walked through the jets of fire, as one would through water from a waterfall, and picked Drogon up into her arms. He calms down, eventually, and when he had stopped roaring fire, so had his siblings. The both of them started shrieking and flapping their wings at Dany, which made her laugh, as she sat down on the floor with them. They were truly like children. Needing attention and reassurance from their mother when they were left alone for too long.

Dany forgot that she had company.

It wasn’t until Viserion looked up, tilting his head, that she realised they had company. She found Thranduil standing at the door, his eyes wide, watching her like she was something he had never seen before. She couldn’t read whether he was fascinated, intrigued or frightened.

“I’m sorry about the gown.”

Thranduil was staring at Viserion, who stared back, and soon enough, all three of them were staring at the King. He didn’t seem to have heard her. The room was a bit of a mess, but at least they hadn’t burned it down, though the walls and some of the furniture would need replacing. Viserion growled, and stepped forward, but the King did not step back. Drogon remained in Dany’s arms, though he too, growled. Thranduil wasn’t afraid, she could see, later. But there was something different about him. This is why he wanted me here, but he did not know how real they were. She gives him the time he needs to process it; Ser Jorah needed at least a few days.

He moved so suddenly the dragons were startled.

Snapping orders at his soldiers, who hesitated, so he spoke louder, until they left, he turned back to Daenerys, and the dragons. Slowly stepping inside the chambers, he shut the door behind himself, and knelt down on the floor, slowly. He bows his head and offers his wrists. Dany is confused but intrigued. Rhaegal is the first to move close enough to sniff him, and once he had, he inched closer, and let Thranduil touch him. Daenerys can’t help but smile. Once Rhaegal had decided he could trust Thranduil, Viserion followed. Drogon was the only one who remained in Dany’s arms.

Thranduil seemed to have some idea of how to handle the dragons, and she was truly impressed by it. “You are good with them. Have you experience with baby dragons?”

At that, he smiled.

“I’ve encountered the fire-drakes of the North before. But no, never a babe. I imagined they’d react the same way small beasts do when they are young and still understanding the way of the world. They are easier to imprint on, than a fully-grown, matured beast.”

That made sense, she supposes. She had met other animals. Some were friendly, some weren’t. The pups always were. Perhaps the same principles could be added to baby dragons, so long as you show no fear or ill intent. Viserion started nipping at the King’s finger, and Dany laughed. “I think he likes you.” He was smiling, too. “This is no place for a beast this magnificent to be. I will arrange for you to be moved higher up.” There was a long pause, and he looked up to meet her eyes.

“In the royal quarters. Where Legolas and I live.”

Her heart stopped for a second.

The mere mention of Legolas made her stomach do strange things, and the notion of living so close to the King? She supposes the look on her face said it all, for he continued: “There are open spaces where they may roam. Gardens. All within safe borders. They can practise their flying, and not feel as suffocated as they must do, in here.” Dany still looked as if he was asking her something inappropriate, but she gave a small nod of agreement, and he decided to leave it at that. It would be best if they both ignored that the idea of being so near each other was as tempting as it was terrifying.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, until Dany finally decided to break it.

“Does this mean that we are staying?” She pretended to be busy playing with Drogon as she spoke, even if the King was staring at her.

“Daenerys.”

How could she not look up when he spoke her name that way? She did almost immediately, and found that he was closer. Drogon wasn’t a fan of it, so he didn’t come any closer. “I would, indeed, be the most foolish King in history if I let you go, nín rîs.”

She let those words sink in. There were many things they could come to mean. But beggars can’t be choosers; it isn’t as if she hasn’t fallen in love with this place, or that she isn’t enchanted by him. It isn’t as if she hasn’t been well-received, or that Legolas— “My people, m—”

“Your people, your dragons, and you. The Woodland Realm has its doors wide open for you, Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.”

The way he was smiling made her feel dizzy.

He bid her goodnight, and her dragons, which she found so very endearing, before he left. Her heart was all a-flutter. Soon after the King left, the maidens were sent to help her get ready for bed; she had gowns upon gowns of Elvish make to choose from, all of a sudden. They assured her the gown could be repaired, and she chose something light as a breeze, of a pale purple colour, to sleep in. They brushed her hair and questioned her of what happened between her and King. How come her hair didn’t get damaged by the fire. And had the King kissed her. Would she be staying? Did King kiss her.

Dany had to send them away, for they could not stop questioning her or giggling.

It seemed elven maidens were quite similar to human ones, in some respects. But indeed, as Dany laid down with her dragons, she wondered about Thranduil. Did he want Daenerys, the woman, or the Mother of Dragons? What if he wants both? Should she be expecting some kind of proposal? What would Ser Jorah think of this? What would Legolas think of her becoming betrothed to his father? She could just be imagining all of this, or perhaps the King merely wanted to take his pleasure. Elves feel lust just as men do, do they not?

That night, she did not get much rest.

She tossed and turned all night, trying to decipher the meaning of Thranduil’s smiles and kindness; but he had told her, that her gratitude was misplaced. Whatever happens, I won’t let a handsome elf sway me away, she promised herself, before sleep finally claimed her.