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You had been in Daenerys’s trust and affections ever since you both were children.
You were there when she was born on Dragonstone, though admittedly only because you had been a swaddled babe cradled in the arms of your own mother. Queen Rhaella and your mother had apparently been quite the pair, or so you’d been told, confiding in each other about the nest of thorns that was King’s Landing.
Perhaps it was destiny that you and Daenerys, your mothers’ daughters, would mirror such a relationship in the future.
You recalled wistfully just how much time had passed. When she wedded Khal Drogo, when she gave birth to her three draconic children, when she had conquered cities and empires, freeing thousands of slaves in her wake, when she finally sailed to Westeros – through it all you had been there, ready to offer solace and comfort to the girl who had never been allowed to be just a girl.
And so you did when she lost Khal Drogo, her ill-fated Dothraki child, and later Viserion. And with each tragedy that struck, you found her arms looped around you, holding you so tightly as if they’d never let you go.
“Don’t leave me,” she cried, eyes frantic, hands shaking as they gripped your arms tightly enough to make a mark. “You cannot ever leave me, please.”
“Never,” you vowed quietly, allowing her to plant kisses, saline with tears, on your lips, your cheeks, your knuckles.
Your eyes fluttered open at the touch of Daenerys’ nails tickling your neck as she tied your hair back. You saw your image looking back at you through the mirror. Daenerys was at your back, humming melodically as she preened you for the final time. A gown darker than ash was fitted around your figure. The fabric held a subtle luster; it looked like dragon scales if the light hit it just right. If you would’ve stood from your seat, it would’ve been revealed in the mirror that the dress cinched you well at the waist before fanning out below your hips. It was thin and sheer – you’d have to wear an overcoat above it.
At your bared collarbones laid a heavy garnet, silver dragon fangs clasped around the jewel. Rarely were you seen in anything other than the imposing Targaryen red and black ever since you had sailed across the Narrow Sea. They were Daenerys’s favorite colors on you.
Daenerys’s violet eyes darted up to your gaze, locked on you through the reflection. You shivered at the brazen infatuation in them, feeling like you were wearing nothing at all.
“You don’t think–you don’t think it’s too much, right?” you spoke, babbling at once how perhaps yes, it was too much, that maybe you should dress more modestly for your christening–it was winter as well, you wouldn’t want to catch a cold–
Daenerys silenced you with a hand on your shoulder. It was how she always calmed you down.
“It isn’t,” she said, genuine affection in her eyes. “You look marvelous – perfect.” Her eyes scoured your body, in awe and appreciation. She found you beautiful.
You warmed, placing your hand on hers.
“Not to mention, it’s a special day. Of course, you have to look the part.” She leaned down and kissed your cheek, before straightening.
Daenerys looked as regal and powerful as she always did, adorned in her house colors and platinum hair plaited behind her. Her strong eyebrows and the increased maturity in her amethyst eyes could’ve made anybody but you believe she was no longer the girl who would cry in your arms when life became too hard to endure alone.
“Are you ready, my love?” she said, and the question brought you back to reality. Uncertainty niggled in the farthest corner of your mind. Besides the neurotic look you’d come to always find in her gaze, there was doubt in her eyes that she tried to hide, nervousness. It wasn’t at the prospect of the ritual, however, you knew.
Daenerys was as absolutely certain in the success of your baptism as she had been when she had first told you about it, despite your small reservations. You chilled thinking for not the first time that maybe… maybe what people whispered about in court was true.
Then you saw the weakness and vulnerability in her eyes, fear that you would reject the ceremony. Reject her. With the ceremony, you’d become her kin, or something like it. Closer to her than ever before.
Mad… you scoffed. You were being ridiculous. Daenerys was still the girl you’d always known, the girl whose place was in your arms.
You smiled widely, pushing any doubt to the side, unable to deny the love of your life anything.
“Of course I am,” you said, standing. You took her hands gently, and she flushed. She looked deeply grateful, nodding in confirmation. She dove in and kissed you. It was heavy, as tempting as ever. You let her, melting. Your lips were warm with feeling when she released you, smiling nervously. You may have thought she was more nervous than you, if not for the anxious fluttering in your chest.
You took a breath of courage as Daenerys led you out the room, instructing firmly to her guards not to be followed.
It was time for you to undergo your lighting ceremony.
-
It was painful, so excruciating that you thought you were dying.
Your jaw tightened, a slick bead of sweat dripping off it. You writhed, twisting and turning. Your body arched off the rocky tabletop, as if stretching towards the heavens, begging for mercy. You could feel fire sear itself into your blood and white flashed behind your shut eyes. A guttural scream ripped itself out from your throat.
You strained against your binds, panting helplessly. Your beloved placed a cool hand against your forehead, but it was little solace against your torment.
“Just a little longer, my sweet,” she breathed. You dared to open your eyes a sliver, seeing her tortured face gaze down at you. The look in her eyes was pained, desperate to end your suffering. She turned to the priestess, her soft expression instantly fierce and wrathful.
“ How much longer?” Daenerys spat at the red witch.
“A little longer, your grace,” the priestess responded, unfazed by the venom in Daenerys’s voice. She nodded her head back, chanting into the air. Her body convulsed as if possessed with spirits, her hands twirling mystically in the air in front of her. The dance for the ritual was a strange blend of sensual and disturbing, as was everything these red witches did. Listening to the tremors in her chant made you dizzy.
The hot coals on your back hissed and burned at your skin, singeing through your gown. It was as if they were annoyed that you had forgotten them, even if only just for a second. You cried out, toes curling.
Your screams bounced around the walls of a cavern some distance away from the Red Keep. It had been briskly cold when you had first entered. Once the procedure began, however, heat quickly swallowed the cave. Icy stalactites dripped from the ceiling as the temperature rose to furnace levels.
You were drawn on a platform bed of smooth, scorching basalt, your arms and legs spread and bound by coarse rope. Your clothing was being eaten through, the hot stones searing your skin.
Your love—beautiful, beautiful Daenerys—was sweating steadily. She removed her overcoat long ago, only in her thinnest layers. The priestess, however, was still fully clothed, possessed by the will of R’hllor.
“Daenerys,” you gasped, your throat feeling like ash. “Daenerys, I’m going to die,” you cried.
Daenerys grasped your hand tightly, terror flooding her countenance at the thought.
“How much longer?!” she roared. As she growled at the witch, you could feel the life leave your body. You were deathly afraid, terrified that here was where your life would end.
“A little longer ,” the priestess bellowed, raising her arms in the air.
She let out a vicious shriek, bone-chilling and piercing. The torches all flared, brightening the cave to a blinding light. Then they went out, billowing smoke in the places of their flame.
The blaze under you went out too, with a hush. The coals should’ve remained hot, but they cooled instantly. They tickled you, making you gasp. The scorch on your skin eased away, replaced with a teasing warmth. You relaxed on the surface of the table, moaning in relief. Goosebumps formed on your skin, trailing from your arms, to your shoulders, to your chest. There was a strange wind present. It felt magical, but you didn’t know if you were imagining it.
Daenerys looked relieved too, elated that you were no longer in pain. Her smiling face was a sight for sore eyes, her cheeks flush with soft pink.
“It is done,” the priestess breathed. She inhaled, spent from her administrations.
“Then you are dismissed,” Daenerys said plainly, eyes not straying from you. She was indifferent to the priestess’s respectful bow and dutiful exit.
You were spent, body slack as it recovered from its former torment. You swallowed thickly, sweat smattered on your temple. “… Did it… did it work?” you croaked.
Daenerys shifted closer to you, her face jubilant. She picked up a coal from beneath your body. The stone burned a dim red in her fingers, shocking you. It couldn’t have been that hot, surely not?
The radiance of the coal turned her eyes from violet to a russet orange. She was entranced by it, as if she was lost in its glow.
You breathed, your eyes following the stone as she moved it closer to you. You braced for contact. She placed it on your chest, near your necklace.
You yelped.
Not at the expected burn, but at the strange tingle that was present instead. It felt like a million needles, numbing.
You looked at the basalt with wide eyes, then Daenerys, who grinned lovingly at you. It had worked.
You watched with amazement when she moved the rock across your skin. It didn’t even leave a mark. She traced it along your form, it scraping gently above where there was bone.
You whimpered, kicking against your constraints.
“That tickles,” you said impertinently.
Daenerys laughed openly, the little lines of delight appearing by her eyes whenever she did.
The next few moments revolved around Daenerys petting at you with the coal, and you wriggling to avoid the touch. Your laughs soon transitioned into sudden intakes of breath, low noises that escaped your throat and lips, tiny purrs. The sensation was fascinating, drunkening.
Your eyes darted up to Daenerys, who was watching the many reactions that flitted across your face. Was this what fire had always felt like to her? Your lips parted as you both locked eyes, the air growing heavy. Erotic. Tempting.
Daenerys climbed atop the table with the grace of a panther, crawling on top of your body.
You were still restrained, pulling against taut bindings.
“Daenerys,” you gulped. She looked at you with unwavering violet eyes. You felt a familiar stirring in your belly, the same as whenever she laid a gaze like that on you.
She peeled off of you the tatters that were your singed clothing. They fell apart in her hands, revealing your bare body as you meekly voiced your protests. Your nipples hardened being exposed to the cool air, the apex between your thighs wettening.
“Seeing you in so much pain was awful,” she said, eyebrows knotting. Then she looked up from your nude body, to your flushed face. Her tongue darted across her lips, wetting them. “But you were also so beautiful.” She was near breathless, her eyes dilated. She swallowed drily, clearly appearing to try to control herself. You didn’t know what to say, still wriggling against your bondage. Daenerys made no move to release you.
“You’re my own now,” she whispered, elation evident in her voice.
You smiled shyly, allowing yourself to relax and lean back on the rocky bed.
“I’ve been yours long since before this, Daenerys,” you said, embarrassed.
Her eyes sharpened at that, her cheeks growing pink with color. The expression on her face was ardent, zealous to claim you. There was that sensation of needles pricking you as you knew she had placed a stone on your flesh.
You allowed your eyes to close, letting your head loll back and your mouth gape for breath when you felt her hands at your hottest parts. Your fingers curled into a trembling fist, your wrists once again bitten into by the rope around them. You desperately needed to ease the want that ravaged your body.
You whimpered, but she cooed to pacify your objections.
“Patience,” she declared, playful.
You didn’t open your eyes. It was exciting to be in the mystery of darkness, unable to see but able to imagine the nimble rotation of her wrist as she worried the bud of your clitoris. You felt the pads of her fingers make circles, her now slick fingers dexterously slipping back and forth. The patterns were enough to make you dizzy, as well as the panging arousal, making your entire body seethe and burn from the attention. Your ribs wracked, heaving with erratic breath.
You flinched and your eyes shot open when you felt a dampness on your thigh.
Daenerys’s gown shielded you from seeing anything explicit, but you could feel the wetness of her core slide back and forth on your skin. She was wet enough that a rivulet of her own making trickled. Your face flamed completely when you looked up from her veiled heat, to her face. It was feverish, sweat on her brow, mouth parted in pleasure. She looked down at you blearily, moaning unabashedly. Despite her doting on you, she was desperate to relieve herself as well.
One deft move of her finger sent a shockwave, the epicenter being your dripping heat.
You shuddered and hissed through your teeth, your focus taken from admiring her and back to the electric feeling racing up and down your veins.
Daenerys was panting, her bucking on your thigh quickening as her fingers slipped in and out of you mercilessly. Minutes passed as you had to deal with the tumultuous rising of stimulation – the fingers that sank further inside you with each thrust along with the pins-and-needles prickling that ran across your body where ever she traced the stone.
“Daenerys,” you gasped. The pressure was building, your abdomen tightening and relaxing in response. It was with only a few more strokes that you came, mouth falling into a soundless scream. Your spine arched, suspended in air before landing gracelessly back onto the tabletop.
Your laid there, fatigued. You felt Daenerys’s rocking slow to a halt. Your eyes peeked open to see her chest heaving with labor. She brought her arm to her side to keep her upright. You shuddered feeling her fingers slipping out of you unceremoniously.
Instantly, Daenerys pounced forward for your lips, her tongue dancing with yours. In the kiss you could taste her possessiveness, her yearning, perhaps even fear. You wanted to reassure her, but couldn’t much do of anything besides lie there. When Daenerys relinquished your lips, you felt them bruised.
You felt your eyes growing heavy, but you fought it.
“You didn’t finish,” you breathed. Daenerys looked up at you, a loose platinum hair falling across her face.
She smiled. “It’s fine. Today was for you.”
You blushed, always finding some way to feel pampered with her. You were lulled by her gentle hand falling on your cheek, muttering an ‘I love you’ before you fell prey to rest.
As you drifted off, Daenerys admired you in silence. Daenerys marveled at your skin’s softness under her hand, comforted by the image in her head of how lovely it’d look under the flickering tongue of flame, orange tendrils lapping at it and curled around your limbs. Today it had only been coals. There was so much more to heat she wanted to explore with you, now that she had shared with you her gift.
She recalled the red priestess’s words and rolled her eyes. For now, at least you did, before the magic would fade. She’d just ask you to perform it again later.
She smiled. How lucky she was, to have someone she could have by her side forever. She looked at the small brand at the back of your neck, tiny and almost hidden behind your hair, but there. She sighed pleasantly, reluctant to get up so she could dress you before you got sick.
“I’ve been yours long since before this,” you had said.
How lucky she was to have someone she could be assured would be hers forever.