Danielle Drake ♨ Daenerys Targaryen (bendtheknee) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-01-31 22:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: danielle drake |
WHO: Danielle Drake → Daenerys Targaryen
WHEN: January 31st
WHERE: Dani’s apartment
SUMMARY: Danielle has remembered a time when playing with fire didn’t burn.
WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit.
Curled up in her kitchen chair, Danielle watched her oven as a dozen cookies baked. Her expression was set with unusual seriousness as she stared at the slowly rising treats. The last several months, she had been plagued with no shortage of strange dreams. They were all the same, in a way. She never dreamt about the same moment, no, but she was always the same person. She was always a silver-haired girl who was Daenerys to some and Khaleesi to others. She was a princess...a queen, and if that wasn’t a delusion of grandeur, Danielle didn’t know what was. Granted, not all of these dreams had been happy. Born of royal blood, though she was, she had been ceaselessly abused by her brother, and it was an all too real parallel to Vincent, whom she hadn’t seen in years. She had been sold as a wife to a Khal, a great warrior of a brutal people, and though that marriage had begun against her will, she had many memories of them falling in love. It felt so reminiscent of what she had with Donovan that her heart ached all over again. It was sometimes difficult to reconcile that with the relationship she now had with Maxon, though he had never - would never - ask her to forget or discredit her first marriage. That was one of the things that she loved about him. The thought that kept turning over in her mind now was ridiculous by all measures of the imagination. She wondered, though...if it was possible that the dreams could have ever been true. Danielle could recall details of this other girl’s life as though she had lived every moment of them, though she knew she hadn’t remembered all of the story by far. They did feel like memories, though. They felt like truth. What she remembered most - what plagued her mind more and more in her waking hours - were the dragon eggs that had been gifted to Daenerys Targaryen as a wedding gift. Those eggs, petrified to stone, were gazed upon every night, illuminated by candle light. For a long time, they had been Daenerys’ one happiness, but with sweeter memories of Drogo, that happiness had some company. Danielle remembered it vividly...how Daenerys had placed the black dragon egg on a bed of coals. The egg had heated and she had picked it up, curiously. Her handmaiden, Irri, had seen it and rushed to take the hot egg from her hands. Irri dropped the precious gift, but had turned Daenerys hands to find them completely unmarred even by long exposure. Irri’s hands had been burned by the brief contact. Dragon’s blood. The Targaryen connection to dragons went back centuries. It was said that her brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, though Viserys claimed again and again that he was the dragon. Perhaps what they all had said was wrong. Perhaps she was the last dragon, having followed in her eldest brother’s footsteps after he died far before his time. Her heart ached for a brother that she didn’t even know...the possibility of family that held a little bit of gentleness in their hearts. Blinking away the memories, Danielle glanced at the timer. The cookies had a few moments more. She had felt the heat of the oven lick over her skin as she had put them on the rack. She wasn’t stupid enough to attempt touching a hot burner or picking up a tray without a pot holder, but she was intrigued by the idea of a girl immune to burns...a girl who might have a little dragon within her soul. It couldn’t be a coincidence that her surname meant dragon or that she had been drawn to them as mystical creatures for the majority of her life. She couldn’t shake the feeling that those eggs were much more than just stone...that they were vitally important not just to Daenerys’ happiness, but to her heart. |