Daenerys turns over a sticky problem in his head, maybe reaches a conclusion.


It is before dawn of the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen: It is the eighty-eighth day of Spring and 70 degrees. It is bright and sunny. The only evidence of the overnight storm is in the lingering mud puddles.


Candidate Barracks, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 26 Feb 2018 06:00



He’s never before felt any guilt whatsoever for the pump-and-dump lifestyle he’s developed over the Turns.


Candidate Barracks

Hopes, dreams, and fears are contained in these cramped quarters, full of small cots and smaller trunks; thin ragged curtains barely provide privacy between the bunks, shining patches in the material suggesting one too many mending attempts. The minimal floor space is kept clear of debris and personal possessions, wide enough for a single broad table often used for study in the art of dragon care. It is a cramped space despite it all, when dragoneggs lie upon the Sands: there's no helping the worn surroundings, when use is at an all-time high. Near the entrance, one cubby exists, large enough to contain a bit of luxury for an adult overseer of the candidates, and a desk — for once in reasonable shape — is set to the left of the entrance, conveniently placed for the monitoring of comings and goings.

I need you so
I need you so
I need you so I will stay
Yes I will be standing right where you left me
Until you look my way

I’m pregnant.

Two little words, a whole world of worry, of pain, of… confusion. What’s he supposed to do with that, he wonders, settled on his bunk and running the soft material of her shirt through his fingers, staring at it so intently it’s a wonder the thing doesn’t burst into flame. Or become soft-skinned, firm flesh, dark hair.. a beautiful woman who has managed to take over his heart and soul in a way he hadn’t expected. Daenerys found out just a day too late that his lovely little dancer — oh, how she hates being called ‘little’, he remembers with a grin — is carrying his child. His child. The first he knows of, and he can’t be there to support her through this, because she doesn’t want him to.

Because she doesn’t feel prepared to raise a child.

Because she doesn’t feel prepared to be married, insisting that they’re too young, that he doesn’t love her in the way she loves him. Does he? He’s not sure of that, but he does love her. Enough to want to be with her, to see her through this, and perhaps spend the rest of his life chasing her ‘round the yurt, arguing over decorations and dinner, what to name the children… What do married couples do, anyway? the slim candidate wonders, rubbing at a worn spot on her shirt as if he can make it bright and new again.

If you tell me what to do
I'll move mountains showing proof
If you let me I'll turn on the light
Show you all I see in you is right
We might need to speak the truth
All the lies are feeling used
Are you sure you nothing good will come
If we keep on marching to this drum

Had I kept my desires to myself, she wouldn’t be in this position.

Guilt; ah, now that’s a new emotion for him. He’s never before felt any guilt whatsoever for the pump-and-dump lifestyle he’s developed over the Turns. But this girl? She didn’t deserve that; she deserved a man who would stand by her through the good and the bad. She didn’t deserve to be outcast among her family, thought of as garbage, something to throw away now someone’s used her. She deserved better than him, and yet… he didn’t want to give her up. Knowing he’s not good enough for her makes no difference,she is his, under his skin, in his blood — and he doesn’t want to let her go.

But she doesn’t want him. Not now, at least. Perhaps later — much later — when she’s given their child away, and has gotten her life back under her control. The thought sickens him, even as he knows it’s the proper thing to do. Better for her, and for the child. She’s right in that she’s too young for this, to be having a baby and trying to mother it. He should have known better by now, not to go screwing a woman that young. But still, she is his, and no one else’s.

All this thinking solves nothing; it merely goes in circles, and becomes harder to settle in his mind, one way or the other. With a sigh, he slips the shirt under his pillow, along with the letter she’d sent, decorated with her tears. Oh, how he hates that he’s made her cry. Lying down, he tucks his hand under the pillow, wrapping them around the two most precious things he owns, and closes his eyes. Be a Candidate he must, now, because she wants him to. And may he find a dragon waiting for him on the Sands, so that he might prove himself worthy of his woman.

I need you so
I need you so
I need you so I will stay
Yes I will be standing right where you left me
Until you look my way

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