#;; dany used to go to viserys for comfort yes!! but he certainly whispered about the time ticking for the usurper to come for them

[kaerinio]

when daenerys was a child, she would often hold her own hand as a self-comfort mechanism because there was no one there to comfort her, and for her whole life, leading up to her marriage to drogo (and for some time afterward), she was afraid. even prior to the eviction from ser willem darry's estate, she was frightened by viserys' paranoid whispers about ruthless assassins and the usurper's dogs coming after them. so, daenerys developed the coping mechanism of holding her own hand, whether she was standing or sitting or curled up, awaiting sleep. often, it manifested as her clasping her fingers together before her, locking them on her lap, or weaving them together beneath a cheek/against her lips/atop her tummy (to release tension before falling asleep). this coping mechanism persisted for most of her life . . . up until she began feeling more established in her sense of comfort/sense of self among the dothraki. she still does it occasionally before sleeping, clasping her hands together and resting her cheek on top of them, but that isn’t necessarily from fear. instead, it arises from the need for comfort . . . for salvation from the immense loneliness.

[thedeviltohisangel]

To Carry On For You//1//Is It Easier To Stay?

Callia stood silently and watched her sister lightly touch the hilt of a melted sword. She didn’t seem anything like the woman who had rode Drogon mere hours ago. But she also wasn’t the girl she had first met all those years ago either. Daenerys wasn’t the same person. Neither was Callia.

“Is it like you always pictured?” she asked as she took soft, careful steps towards Dany. Callia had seen the Iron Throne many times before. It was no longer special to her. Just another pile of metal. She didn’t understand why so much blood had been spilt for it over the years. Doesn’t think she ever will.

“Viserys explained to me that it was made of a thousand swords as the Lords surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror. I couldn’t imagine what a thousand swords looked like. I couldn’t count to twenty.” Callia smiled. She had thought a lot about what a younger Daenerys would look like.

If they would have looked more similar then or now. If she was more Lannister than Targaryen after her years in the South.

“Now you know.”

“Now I know,” she whispered back as she finally turned from the throne to face her sister. Callia stood still as Dany slowly walked down the steps and stood directly in front of her. “I couldn’t have done it without you by my side. Without our strength as sisters, it would have never been done. I thank you for that.”

“You are my family. I would do anything for you.” It was true. Callia may not have known of her younger sister for very long, known her physically even less, but the fire that ran through both their veins burned at the same temperature. It had been easy to know she was meant to be with Daenerys. Easy to know she was meant to protect her. Protect her even from herself.

“I wish to name you my heir, once all is said and done. You are my flesh and blood. You have stood by me in the most trying of times. You will be Queen, your children will grow to be the same. And assuming Jon will be their father-”

“The Targaryen lineage will be strong. Thank you, sister.” Dany moved to embrace her and Callia met her in kind, relishing in the final moments of warmth she would receive from her sister. “I did it because I love you.” It was an answer to the question she knew Dany would ask. Maybe it would be the last thought she ever had. Why.

----

Callia caught her sister before she hit the floor, cradling her close and keeping her grip tight so in her final moments she would know she was not alone. Callia did it to prevent the madness from spreading further. To prevent the decay of her sister’s legacy any further. She was a hero. A Queen. A dragon. A liberator. That was how she deserved to be remembered.

She did it to protect Jon. She knew of the turmoil that had lived behind his eyes during the battle. Knew he would never be able to rest if there was a possibility of her doing it again. Callia knew what Jon thought he had to do. She also knew it would kill him to do it. So she did it herself. Her sister deserved to die in the arms of someone she truly loved. Who truly loved her. Who knew of the fire in her blood and the kindness of her heart. In the arms of someone who could forgive her wrongs.

“Callia? What happened? What did you do?”

“What had to be done.” She didn’t bother to wipe the tears from her face as Jon entered the throne room. Let him see what this pointless war had made her. Let him see that beneath the mane of the lion and the fire of the dragon she was still only human.

“I-” Whatever comfort he might have offered her or sentiment that rested on the tip of his tongue, was interrupted by the arrival of Drogon. He screeched and roared and cried into the sky. His mother was dead.

Jon walked to her side tentatively, not wishing to disturb the grieving creature that was nudging the body of Daenerys. “What do we do now?” he asked quietly.

“I must go with her. To Dragonstone. Where I will give her a proper funeral, heal Drogon and reunite him with Kenna.”

“All of this time that we have fought to be together, we finally have the chance and you wish to leave again?” There was a sad smile on her face when she turned to face him.

“I swear by the gods, the old and the new, that we are meant to be together, Jon Snow. We will find each other in the time and place where it is destined.”

“Destined for us to be free.” It was all they had ever wanted. All they had ever hoped for. To be free. It was what they whispered about in bed. Spoke about by the fire. Called to each other before they left to battle.

“Yes,” Callia spoke with tears in her eyes as she noticed the orange light beginning to form in the back of Drogon’s throat, “open land and air. Us and our wolves and dragons and little wildings that have your curls and my eyes.” She knew the saying went that fire could never kill a dragon, her and Jon’s Targaryen blood making them dragons, but she wasn’t sure if that theory had ever been tested by the fire of a dragon. If even that wouldn’t burn them.

She made sure to look into his eyes as the heat began to build. If this were to be her last moments, she wanted that gentle look in his eyes to be the last thing she ever saw.

“Where we will be free.”

----

Callia watched from Drogon’s back as the melted steel ran down the steps that had once lead to the Iron Throne. To think this chair had cost so many lives, corrupted so many souls, was now just reduced to a grey sludge was astounding. What had it all meant anyways?

“I will find you when it is safe. I promise.” Her hand rested on Jon’s cheek as he looked up at her sadly. “Take care of my wolves for me.”

“Your wolves?”

“I rescued all of them, didn’t I?”

“Aye. You did.” He knew she would make a great mother. She already was to her dragon and direwolves. Jon smiled so brightly whenever he thought of her with a baby. His baby. He had started to consider her as his family long ago but it would be wonderful to add to it. Of course he would have to marry her first.

“I love you, Jon Snow.”

“I love you, Callia.” He kissed her knuckles tenderly before she took off on the back of Drogon into the sky, Daenerys lovingly in his grasp.

----

Jon was the only one for the Unsullied to blame for the death and disappearance of their Queen. He took the blame entirely. It protected Callia from ever being sought after though he was entirely positive that she would have protected herself and then some from anyone who came looking.

He thought about her the entire time he was in his cell. Wondered if she had found somewhere peaceful and beautiful for them to spend the rest of their days. Wondered if she would ever get tired of waiting for him.

When he heard that Bran had reached the compromise of sending him back to the Night’s Watch, he was torn. It was better than being beheaded. But it wasn’t the freedom he had promised Callia they’d find. He’d be sworn to taking no wife. No children. Two things he had sworn to her he would do.

It was difficult to say goodbye to his siblings. His pack. But they were all going into the ventures they were meant to be in. Sansa as Queen. Arya as an explorer. Bran as overseer. Jon could rest easier at night knowing they were all happy and accounted for. If only Ned and Catlyn could see them. If only Rickon and Robb could join them. Jon wonders, if they did it all over again, if Ned would still accept the position as Hand. If he would leave for King’s Landing. It certainly started a chain of events none of them could have ever seen coming. But it had also brought him to where he was now. He had lived. He had loved. Maybe he wouldn’t have if things hadn’t happened the way they had.

It felt odd to return to The Wall but not entirely wrong. The North was in his blood, in his soul. He had turned into a man here and for that he would forever be grateful. Jon was also a warrior. In battle but also in life more generally. It was in the North that he had found his place. Had found somewhere where the fight felt worthwhile. He could be happy here. He knew he could be.

Jon smiled to himself as he rode out into the forest with Tormund and the Wildlings. He was unsure if he would return to The Wall behind him. Part of him believed his place, his true freedom, was in the direction he was currently headed. He watched with confusion as Ghost sprinted ahead, away from the travelling party.

“Ghost?” Perhaps he smelled something tasty or was scoping out a potential threat. Jon signalled to Tormund that he was going to follow, urging his horse along quicker to try and close the gap that the wolf had formed. “Come on, boy, what’re you up to?” He followed Ghost into a clearing and wanted to give his own gleeful yelp when he saw the sight in front of him.

There stood Callia with her own dragon, Kenna, and the five direwolves. His family.

“I told you I’d find you,” she teased with a laugh as Jon eagerly came down from his horse and jogged to her. She crashed into him and felt completely full as his lips landed on hers.

“After you left-”

“I know. I know.” She spoke quietly as she carded her fingers through his hair and drank him in with her eyes. “But there is plenty space in the North for us to be free. For us to be us.” Jon smiled as her words sunk into him.

“You mean you’ll be Princess Snow?”

“Queen Snow,” she corrected with a glint to her eye.

“Come then. We must continue our march to freedom.”