Fic: The only way to bring me back (Dany/Doreah, Game of Thrones)
FANDOM: Game of Thrones
SUMMARY: Doreah has always wanted to see a dragon.
WORD COUNT: ~2200
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em.
SPOILERS: All of Season 1.
AUTHORS' NOTES: It's a strange thing, for a show to have a future canon that you know nothing about. So yes, I know this won't fit in with what will happen. (And I know I've taken a liberty with the naming of certain things.) But I just really wanted to write for this pair.
She kneels, like the rest of them, but she cannot bow her head. She cannot remove her eyes from the spectacle before her. The Khaleesi, her queen, with three newborn dragons clinging to her. Unbidden, she rises to her feet and walks forward, hardly noticing the supplicants all around her. The Khaleesi turns her head at the movement and their eyes meet. She thinks she sees a smile touch Daenerys’ lips, only for a second.
Doreah nods, though it is not quite a question. As she draws closer, the creatures flick their tiny heads in her direction. She can feel their scrutiny as if it were a physical touch. They are protecting their mother. Doreah stops, fascinated. Daenerys reaches out a hand to caress her face and at once the creatures’ attentions change. They are no longer hostile; they trust her. Doreah covers the Khaleesi’s hand with her own where it rests on her cheek.
“Khaleesi, you have given me my greatest wishes this day,” she whispers. “To see a dragon, and to have my freedom.”
Daenerys’ thumb strokes across her cheek and the dragon on her shoulder seems to hum with something like pleasure.
“And now my greatest wish is to stay with you and serve you, as a free woman.”
This time, she is sure of the Khaleesi’s smile. Daenerys removes her hand from Doreah’s cheek, and lifts the green dragon that is snuggled against her body, holding it out for Doreah to take. With shaking hands Doreah reaches for the creature. It comes to her with minimal fuss and only one glance back at its mother. She cradles it against her chest. She had thought a dragon might feel cold, but it doesn’t. The fire in its blood keeps it warm. She feels its wings flutter as it tries to get closer to her and she wraps her arms around it more closely, protecting this precious thing.
The Khalasar is smaller now, less efficient. But by nightfall they have erected tents and lit fires and food is roasting. Doreah stands in the doorway and watches as Daenerys lies by the fire with the dragons. They jump and play and nuzzle her skin and the Khaleesi laughs and pets them, talking to them low in her throat. She hardly wants to interrupt, but Daenerys needs to eat.
“I brought food, Khaleesi,” she says, dipping her eyes reverentially when Daenerys looks up at her. “I shall leave it here and bid you goodnight.”
She walks further into the tent and lays a tray of food on the ground. The green dragon leaves its mother and hops over to latch onto Doreah’s leg, whining and butting its head against her knee. She stoops to stroke its head and Daenerys laughs.
“Stay,” she says, though it is not a command. “They like you.”
Doreah looks into the Khaleesi’s eyes and smiles at the warmth that has come back into them.
“And I like them, Khaleesi,” she says, sitting cross legged on the ground, the green dragon moving into her lap. “I like them very much.”
That night Doreah sleeps on the ground with Daenerys. With dragons between them and on top of them and all around them.
Doreah spends her days working; the Khalasar is much depleted and there is plenty to be done. In the evening she comes to Daenerys’ tent with dinner. The dragons bounce to greet her, flapping around her head and bumping against her, looking for attention and the treats she always has for them.
She can barely believe that she is the same little girl who dreamed of sitting on the back of a dragon and flying away, far away, from everything in her life. Now she has a red dragon on her head and black one wrapped around her leg and her Khaleesi laughs in delight and tells them to leave Doreah alone. But Doreah shakes her head as the green dragon comes to land in her arms. She holds it close and lets it nip at her fingers.
Later, she is lying on her back in front of the fire, the green dragon asleep on her belly, while Daenerys watches her from a chair. The Khaleesi often watches her when she is with the dragons. It’s not unlike when she was in the pleasure house and her mistress would watch her with men, assessing her technique. She does not mind the Khaleesi’s eyes on her. She knows her gaze is approving.
“You should name them,” she says, dragging her fingertips over the green dragon’s wing. “So that we won’t have to refer to them by their colours.”
The words are out before she can censor them. She has no place telling the Khaleesi what to do with the dragons. Nor has she any right to include herself in any assumptions about their future. But Daenerys doesn’t appear to mind.
“I should,” she muses. “I’ve been thinking about it. But the Dothraki don’t name their animals.”
“You are not Dothraki, Khaleesi,” Doreah protests. “And these are no mere animals.”
Daenerys looks at her for a long time before shifting her gaze to the dragon asleep on her abdomen. The red dragon, which is never far from its mother, shifts on Daenerys’ shoulder, pressing its face against her cheek. The Khaleesi closes her eyes and turns so that the dragon’s head is resting against her forehead.
“This one is Drogon,” she whispers.
Doreah lowers her eyes in respect.
“That one is Rhaegal,” Daenerys continues, her voice betraying none of the tears Doreah had expected to hear in it.
“And that one is yours to name.”
Doreah’s head snaps up.
“No, Khaleesi…I…I couldn’t…I….”
“You can and you shall,” Daenerys tells her with a soft smile. “She adores you, it’s only right.”
Doreah looks down at the small creature, curled up in sleep, one of her wings hanging down by Doreah’s side, like an embrace. She touches its skin, it snuggles closer and lets out a contented sound. Doreah has no family she cares to name the dragon for, nor friends nor husbands. There is only one person in Doreah’s life that she would consider bestowing such an honour on. She looks up at Daenerys.
“This is Storm.”
She is not surprised the first time Daenerys kisses her. The Khaleesi is a woman with needs and urges and Doreah is well equipped to meet them. She lets Daenerys lead her in a her shy and clumsy dance until they find a way to move that makes them light and graceful.
Though she’d taught the Khaleesi how to please a man, she still has a host of knowledge to be shared. Doreah had lain with Dothraki men and none of them had understood much about pleasing a woman. From the reaction even the lightest of her touches elicits in Daenerys, Doreah would wager that Drogo was no different.
She spends their first time together worshipping the Khaleesi as she deserves to be worshipped. She takes time and care, introducing the younger woman to parts of her body she didn’t know existed. She brings her to the brink several times, before finally settling between her thighs to finish her.
As her mouth laves attention on the Khaleesi, Doreah feels gentle pressure on her back and she knows that the dragons are with her. It feels like they are exactly where they should be. And when Daenerys’ scream cuts into the night, the dragons fly around the tent, calling to each other.
Doreah has never seen anything more magical.
“Did you always know?”
They lie twisted around one another on a blanket, sweat still drying on her skin. The Khaleesi does not sweat, though her skin is always hot to the touch. Daenerys presses a kiss to her collar bone, smiling against it.
“Did I know what?” she asks, her voice gruff and lazy with satisfaction.
Doreah’s fingers glide up and down Daenerys' arm and she bites her lip before she speaks.
“That you had the blood of the dragon, not your brother?”
She feels the Khaleesi tense against her at the mention of Viserys and she wishes she could take it back. But it’s something she has wondered about. She never saw a dragon in Viserys. He was too quick to invoke the name of the dragon as a threat, without understanding the beauty or the power that came with that name. More than once Doreah had heard him warn the Khaleesi against ‘waking the dragon’. She pulls Daenerys closer and presses a kiss to her forehead to wash away the memory.
“No, I didn’t,” Daenerys admits. “Not until I came to be with the Dothraki and saw that I had power that he could never have. Before that I was a child and he was my elder…I believed the things he said. He…frightened me.”
“I am sorry, Khaleesi,” Doreah whispers, both for what had happened to Daenerys and for asking her to talk about it.
Daenerys props herself up on her elbow and traces her finger down Doreah’s nose, over her chin and neck, to draw nonsensical patterns on her chest.
“Don’t be,” Daenerys says with a smile. “It’s due to him that I am here. He did wake the dragon. Just not the one he expected to.”
Then the Khaleesi leans down to capture Doreah’s lips, leaving her to ponder whether she should hate Viserys or be thankful to him.
“Khaleesi, I br-“
“Stop calling me that!”
Doreah almost drops the tray, such is her surprise at the outburst. She lays it on the floor, noting that the dragons seem unsure of what is wrong. Drogon is by Daenerys, as always, but the other two hover in the air, tentative.
“But Kha-…what would you have me call you?”
The Khaleesi moves towards her, bringing both hands to her face and makes sure that Doreah is looking into her eyes before speaking.
“Dany. I want you to call me Dany.”
The smile catches Doreah unawares and Daenerys matches it with one of her own.
“That may take some getting used to,” she says. “I will apologise in advance if I mistakenly call you by your title.”
“And I will forgive you in advance, but promise me that you’ll try.”
Doreah turns her head to brush her lips against the palm of Dany’s hand.
“I promise,” she says, and means it.
Daenerys’ hands move from her face, down over her shoulders and arms, to take her own, squeezing gently.
“Do you remember what you told me? When you taught me how to…how to please Drogo?”
Doreah does, but she needs Daenerys to say it for herself.
“What did I tell you?”
“You told me that outside, Drogo was the mighty Khal…but in here he belonged to me,” Daenerys whispers. She links her fingers through Doreah’s, as they had that first night, and lifts them to her lips. “Outside this tent, I am the Khaleesi, but in here I am yours.”
No words come to her, so she copies Dany’s gesture, kissing her knuckles. Doreah is surprised to find tears in her eyes; she hasn’t cried in many years.
“And I am yours, Dany, collar or no collar. I belong to you,” she manages, her eyes closed. One of her hands is released and she feels gentle fingers under her chin, making her look up. She opens her eyes to see that Daenerys is crying too, but with a smile on her face.
“Love comes in at the eyes, Doreah,” she says, her thumb wiping away the first of Doreah’s tears to fall. “You taught me that.”
Doreah shakes her head. “I knew nothing of love before I knew you..”
“And now?” Dany urges.
“Now I know why men die for women,” Doreah breathes. “Why they write poems and sonnets about their beauty. Why they fight wars over them. Now I know what love is.”
She catches a brief look of guilt as it flashes across Daenerys’ face.
“I know you’ve known love before,” she hurries to add. “I don’t expect…I know I shall never replace him. I wouldn’t even try to.”
Long moments stretch out as Daenerys stands in silence and looks into her eyes, as if searching for an answer. She seems to find what she was looking for.
“When Drogo died it was as though the sun had been torn from the sky and the stars had fallen too.” Doreah looks away but Dany’s hand on her chin brings her back. “Your laughter made the sun rise again. You lit up the night sky with your smile. I don’t need you to be him. I need you to be you.”
A sob escapes from Doreah’s mouth and Dany swallows the next one and they’re kissing and touching and holding and loving.
Drogon comes to perch on Dany’s shoulder, Storm on Doreah’s and Rhaegal flies above their heads.