born of storms
Characters: Daenerys, Viserys
Rating: PG
Word Count: 421
Summary: We are dragons, he'll say. A storm cannot hurt a dragon.
Note: For![[info]]()
bond_girl! I hope you like it! I am still slowly working my way up to getting used to writing trufax incest, so this is mostly just some meandering. Still inappropriately loving Viserys as much as ever. What is my issue.
Daenerys is never sure when Viserys changes. She's not sure there is even an exact moment to pin down; her birth, maybe. Their father's death. Some point she has never seen split him in two, and now both Viserys co-exist within him.
Sometimes when it rains, water lashing the walls of their borrowed home, thunder crashing and lightning cracking sharply down, Daenerys is terrified. She curls up in her bed like a lump, peeking out with one eye at the tormented black and gray sky she can barely see outside her window. Viserys will find her like that, study her with one eyebrow arched and his arms crossed.
Depending upon the Viserys he is that day, he will do one of two things: he will tell her to stop acting like an idiot child, or he will crawl into bed with her. If the latter, he will press a kiss to her hairline and wrap her in his arms, his familiar smell surrounding her, and he will say she was born in a storm. You shouldn't be afraid of them then, he'll say, as though it's as simple as that.
We are dragons, he'll say. A storm cannot hurt a dragon.
Viserys is everything for the first half of her life – he feeds her and teaches her and makes sure she is cared for. He also snaps at her, spits cruelties, grips her with unforgiving fingers, slaps her once – hard, right across the face. It hurts like nothing she's ever known and afterwards he's shaking, and he won't speak to her for two days.
Viserys makes her skittish, quick to flinch. He is as soon to kiss her as hiss that her birth was some grand mistake of the universe.
Sometimes he is melancholy.
Daenerys was always conscious of how much older he was, how mature, a king, until she herself became a queen – he was dead by then, but she was struck by how very young he was, really. They were both so very young. They were children.
Daenerys will never stop hating her brother; the hatred is like fire, scorching her insides, and it spurns her on. Daenerys will never understand why she misses him so much sometimes, the slightly singed scent of his skin and his eyes that mirrored hers.
She names one of her dragons Viserion, for his cream-colored scales like her brother's skin and his golden crown of horns that her brother only knew in death.
Characters: Daenerys, Viserys
Rating: PG
Word Count: 421
Summary: We are dragons, he'll say. A storm cannot hurt a dragon.
Note: For
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=90.3)
bond_girl! I hope you like it! I am still slowly working my way up to getting used to writing trufax incest, so this is mostly just some meandering. Still inappropriately loving Viserys as much as ever. What is my issue. Daenerys is never sure when Viserys changes. She's not sure there is even an exact moment to pin down; her birth, maybe. Their father's death. Some point she has never seen split him in two, and now both Viserys co-exist within him.
Sometimes when it rains, water lashing the walls of their borrowed home, thunder crashing and lightning cracking sharply down, Daenerys is terrified. She curls up in her bed like a lump, peeking out with one eye at the tormented black and gray sky she can barely see outside her window. Viserys will find her like that, study her with one eyebrow arched and his arms crossed.
Depending upon the Viserys he is that day, he will do one of two things: he will tell her to stop acting like an idiot child, or he will crawl into bed with her. If the latter, he will press a kiss to her hairline and wrap her in his arms, his familiar smell surrounding her, and he will say she was born in a storm. You shouldn't be afraid of them then, he'll say, as though it's as simple as that.
We are dragons, he'll say. A storm cannot hurt a dragon.
Viserys is everything for the first half of her life – he feeds her and teaches her and makes sure she is cared for. He also snaps at her, spits cruelties, grips her with unforgiving fingers, slaps her once – hard, right across the face. It hurts like nothing she's ever known and afterwards he's shaking, and he won't speak to her for two days.
Viserys makes her skittish, quick to flinch. He is as soon to kiss her as hiss that her birth was some grand mistake of the universe.
Sometimes he is melancholy.
Daenerys was always conscious of how much older he was, how mature, a king, until she herself became a queen – he was dead by then, but she was struck by how very young he was, really. They were both so very young. They were children.
Daenerys will never stop hating her brother; the hatred is like fire, scorching her insides, and it spurns her on. Daenerys will never understand why she misses him so much sometimes, the slightly singed scent of his skin and his eyes that mirrored hers.
She names one of her dragons Viserion, for his cream-colored scales like her brother's skin and his golden crown of horns that her brother only knew in death.