usir | ( closed ) | to lead me back home from this place

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( closed ) | to lead me back home from this place

Character(s): Lauralae and Dany
Status: Closed
Location(s): Around Didymos
Date(s) A handful of days after the Pit
About: Dragon moms!!
Warnings: N/A

Lauralae had never felt it necessary to seek someone out before.

The people she chose to spend time with, as limited as they were, had always been somewhat easy to find. Either it was Myr, settled in her temple rooms, or Aramas, lurking in his gardens, his house, smiling and wavering when she came close. Finding someone new, someone she only knows by whispers of name and a position as someone much like herself is a more difficult challenge for her to face.

Tracking is something she is used to, at least, and she does her best to seek out the woman she had seen in the pit. Blonde hair, tall enough, perhaps limping or resting on one side due to her wound, the shoulder injury. If she had died she would have been brought back to life at the same time; that's enough for her to know that Daenerys would likely still be around Didymos. The weight of the bag at her side is heavy and knowing what lies inside makes her more nervous than she might have been before, twitchy as she avoids the crowds around her, making noises and sounds about the shadow they had seen.

She knows what that shadow was. Lauralae knows; she had seen it. Nothing will make her speak, however.

Wandering around gives her enough of an idea of where people might go, however, and that helps guide her towards where she might be able to find Daenerys. A message is sent to her, by Rav'ahm's leg, asking to meet her near the outskirts of the city, signed with a 'L' and the shape of an egg - little else. She hopes the other woman will recognise it for what it is and come to her.

Settled down, quiet, Lauralae sits petting the head of her raven quietly, whispering to him. He speaks back in her mind and she leans close, nudging her forehead against his, one hand resting lightly on her bag.

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It is not that Lauralae is entirely against making friends with another animal, but she is a little more tense than she might be otherwise. She is carrying something incredibly special with her, an egg that she wants to protect with everything she is. It's the sight of Dany that calms her, that makes her feel as though she has some kind of anchor even if her heart is rushing just a little in her chest.

Rav'ahm makes a noise above her and she calms, the gentle sound of his voice in her mind softening her.

"I found mine. When I returned to life it was with me."

Moving forward, careful, she hesitates. She doesn't know what to do with herself, not for a little while, before she breathes out and makes herself a little more comfortable, reaching to the bag at her side. She wants to reach inside and take it out, but at the same time she's a little nervous.

"I am keeping it. For as long as I can. Alucard knows," said with some hint of bitterness, something sad, "but I will keep it."

"It was with you?" Her gaze dips to Lauralae's side, where a bag is held close. That's where the egg must be. "I'm sorry you fell, as well."

She means it. They'd been separated during the chaos of escape. If they'd all remained together, might things have been different? Not with the way Jon described the remainder of the escape. How more and more of them died.

Alucard. She may not physically react, but there's a shift in her eyes. Worry. She'd heard his vitriol about dragons upon her awakening on the shores.

Without thinking, she steps closer. Close enough to press her hand to Lauralae's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

"We'll protect them both." Her look, it's determined. A touch of earnestness to it. "From him and the others. We can show them that not all dragons are the same as the three we knew."

Because it's what her family believed. Blood of the dragon. She had to have faith.

"It was."

Careful fingers, brushing against the leather, lower to the lump that rests there. She does not know what to do with herself, at least not for a moment, but there's a softness to her features that betrays just how she feels about it. It's hers; she claims it, and she will raise it. That is what she told him.

She had lost Alucard, but she had claimed this egg. She had claimed it, and she would keep it.

When the hand touches her shoulder she physically flinches, jerking a little, before she settles. Tension colours her features as she glares up at her, not sure what to do with herself. There's some hesitation to her, but when she speaks her voice works a little, just.

"Yes. I will not let anything harm it." Lauralae knew nothing of the dragons, but...

She bows her head.

"I will love it."

She doesn't look repentant for causing the other to flinch. In fact, she meets that glare with a steady look, patient in a way she's learned thanks to the Dothraki and her brother.

So many refused to allow her to care for them; it's a shame Lauralae is amongst them. It's with that thought surfacing that she finally withdraws, looking away, around them again. The egg is warm to the touch, even through the layers of her dress.

"I tried to hatch mine in a bonfire." Not in an unruly, undying flame as she'd made herself unburnt. "I don't think the flames were strong enough."

It is not, necessarily, that Lauralae does not wish to be cared for; she had cherished what Alucard had given her, not so long ago, and she still thinks of Myr and the loss of her mother, the desperation she had felt. She simply does not trust, with good reason, and dark eyes gaze up at Dany, careful, sharp.

Her fingers keep pressing gently over the warmth of the egg under her fingertips, as if anchoring herself to it, the feel of the awkward leather touch.

"They still have time," her voice is soft, idle. "I think they will come when they are ready, when they are sure of themselves."

When they're sure of themselves? What a sweet sentiment. Absently, she smoothes her palm along her 'belly', the touch affectionate... as if she really were an expecting mother. (It wouldn't be the first time she'd done it, truthfully--but that was a lifetime ago.)

"It changed colors. From orange to red and back to orange after the flames. It's always warm, now. Warmer than before." She looks to Lauralae. "Has yours changed at all?"

What they share is a strange thing. Life, death, and a dragon egg. Yet despite that, she feels on uneven ground when around the other, perhaps because the displays of power she's accustomed to hold no sway.

And that sentiment, it's as wild as she imagines Lauralae to be.

It betrays the depth of innocence that Lauralae carries, even after so many years of life. She is still a child in so many ways, still pure despite the murder that she carries on her shoulders and the blood on her hands. She might have brought death to many, but in heart and in some parts of her mind? She is like a child, bruised by the world but wishing for a kinder hand.

"Orange to green." Quick, sharp, soft words. "It is warmer, but the colour has stayed the same since the orange. Green like the trees, the bushes, the forests."

Closing her eyes, Lauralae takes a moment, stroking her fingers over the egg again before she lifts her eyes back to Dany.

"I..." Hesitating, as if afraid, ashamed. "I love it."

"Full of life, then. It's fitting." She lifts her brows. "Your blood is the same."

Both were far better than the desert's unforgiving heat and lack of shelter. She rarely walked the forests, despite her travels... but those times she did were special. Unique in a way a city-dweller would find the wilds to be. Or a dragon princess encountering snow for the first time.

Perhaps this one is a Targaryen without ever knowing it. Her smile is faint, but no less warm.

"Come walk with me." Love may be exactly what the hatchling needs. If the great three dragons were raised properly--however that might be--perhaps they would still live. "Shall I tell you about my family? We've the dragon's blood within our veins."

"My blood... Is not just life."

It is death as well; Lauralae knows that. The dhampir heritage that courses through her veins is something that she does not necessarily try to hide; she knows the reaction the world will have for her. Aramas had shown her that, and there's a knot of nausea in her stomach as she glares up at Dany, unsure.

She does not know what to do with herself, but she knows that their eggs... They must be kin. No matter how she feels about Dany, how twisted and confused her mind is, she is another egg carrier. Their dragons will know one another.

"... As you wish." Lauralae moves, whistling, and Rav'ahm comes down to nestle on her shoulder, wings flicking a little. "I will listen."

"It keeps you alive, doesn't it?" And it healed her in a desperate time. Not something so easily forgotten, that. She's seen firsthand what ills blood magic can bring, knowing all too well her aversion to it in the first place. Which makes it all the stranger that she argues in favor of it. For now. "Fire is the same. It's life, death, destruction.

"Sometimes," she goes on, heedless of that glare as they fall into step, "Power must be terrible in order to protect those who are ours."

Irriella bolts ahead of them, hiccuping as she kicks up dirt and pebbles. The sunshine--even the quiet around them right now--is terribly misleading.

"Valyrians were a group of elves who resided in the wilds, and Targaryens were a house of elves who broke away to embrace the civilizations forming." These stories come easy to her. All too easily, she can hear Viserys murmuring of the great feats their ancestors accomplished. "Aegon the Conqueror was a fierce man who caught the dragon's eye through bravery and battle wits. He conquered many with his sisterwives, and in the end, was rewarded by drinking Epithymetikon's blood."

"Perhaps that is what it does." Lauralae isn't sure what her blood is. It can harm and it can heal, lending itself to the blood magic she had always found so easy, so simple - but she doesn't understand it. Myr had been taken from her long before her questions could be answered and now she is alone in the world with no one she can trust.

There's no hesitation then as Lauralae glances at her hands. Below her palm there are marks, scarring, signs of what she had done to herself - in the curve of her thumbline where she had bitten herself to heal Dany in the first place, something knotting in her stomach as she forces her hands down, back, hidden in the length of her sleeve.

Too much to think about now, even with Rav'ahm voice calm in her mind.

"I have not met many elves," she admits, her voice quiet, almost shy. It's not often that people share their histories with her, want to talk to her for so long. "I spent my time alone in the forests, waiting. Growing." Hesitating. "I think my parents were elves."

"It's enough, then." She says it with a finality that invites no room for debate. Lauralae could have easily left her in the pit, but she'd shed her blood, despite not knowing Dany very well. It doesn't mean she's entirely different from Mirri Maz Duur (time would tell her that), but for now, she's content in making a sharp distinction between the two.

...Which is more than she'd have done a century ago.

"Do you think of yourself as an elf?" Her tone is gentle, not forceful. Genuine curiosity. "What were you waiting for?"

Is it? Lauralae wants to say more but she cannot, biting her tongue as she forces herself to calm and breathe. There is no point allowing herself to be worked up over nothing, not when there are more important things for her to concern herself with; the egg, the future of it, what it means. Her heart is in her throat somewhat.

Instinct has her hand touching the leather of her bag, eyes closing for a moment as if she can feel the heartbeat through the shell.

"I think of myself as a being. As existing. I do not belong to anything or anyone." A frown settles on her face now, almost childlike, as if the question is too hard. "I was waiting for a change that never came."

And yet again, there's a bit of surprise which accompanies that answer. Pleasantly unexpected, really. To not belong to anyone or anything...

What she'd have given for that when Viserys sold her to Drogo. Now, she would rather belong. Now, with her people dead (save Jon), it was like being cast adrift in a cold and foreign place. Beginning anew, that's what this is.

"That can be lonely. Not always, but sometimes," she adds, eyeing Lauralae from the corner of her eye. She's silent for a beat, looking ahead again. Every now and then, pointed ears twitch when a sound rises above the hum of their surroundings: a bird, a twig snapping, the chatter of civilization. "Are you still waiting?"

Lauralae barely notices any reaction from Dany; she is focussed on her egg, on her own confusion, on the twisting thoughts in her mind that the other woman is inspiring. It takes her a moment to look over again, to actually pay attention and attempt to listen to what the words are.

Hesitating, she squeezes the straps of her bag, pale skin going all the more white for it before she turns her attention back up to the woman at her side, taller and more regal in some ways. Lauralae is not cowed by her lack of height - she knows she can seem taller than she is.

"I was not lonely. I had the trees and my hunts. I lived." Almost eight decades of isolation. She had grown accustomed to her own mind. She struggles with her words, but - Dany has an egg. Dany has been kind. There is something there. "Perhaps. Perhaps waking from death three times is the sign I was waiting for."

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( closed ) | to lead me back home from this place

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