Daenerys writes a letter to home.


It is evening of the fourth day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Candidate Barracks, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 20 Mar 2018 05:00



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.

Daenerys has time, now, his head clearer, his body more still, to write home to Reveka — for she is home, now; home in a way no other place in his life has ever been. Whatever his future will bring, he knows she will be a part of it, if he can just convince her that he’s not fooling around with her, that it’s not just about the baby, it’s about her, too, now. He hadn’t planned on being attached to her, but he is. He’s certain that, in time, they can make a life together. Maybe after the Hatching, if he doesn’t Impress.

You know, I’m glad you made me stay here and see this Candidacy through; it’s given me time to think — really think about what I want in life. I want to see this through. For you. For me. I mean, I’ve never wanted to Impress before; I Stood once because my father wanted me to, then never again agreed to do it. It probably disappointed him that I didn’t want to be a rider, but he never made me feel less than for not wanting to do it. But now? I… kind of do want to. It will be a way to prove I’m not just a pretty child, just flitting around doing what pleases me. And… well. I’ve gotten to see more of what riders do all day besides ride round and fight Thread. There’s so much that goes into it that I’d never seen before, and… part of me really wants to do that. Especially working with the Guard. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to give up on guard training and everything if I got a dragon — but apparently, that’s definitely an option. How that escaped my notice before, I can’t tell you; it’s not like it’s new, it’s more like I never really paid attention like I should have, huh. Typical me, I suppose; if it doesn’t affect my life, I don’t care — well. Now… I care.

As to what you’ve been wondering, all this time… yes. Without reservation, love, yes.

I want to mate you or marry you, or whatever the hell you want — because I want to be with you.

I don't know what to say to convince you that I mean it when I say I want to be with you. Does you having my child factor into it? Yes. It does. It makes me think I would enjoy raising children with you, when you feel ready; it makes me think of living my life with you, of us being old and gray and chasing each other around the yurt or a shared weyr — of what forever could be like with you. To know what it's like to build a family with you. I do love you, darling. There's no other way to explain it, is there, when I can't get you out of my head, when I spend my free time just staring into space, wondering: how beautiful is she? How soon can I spend my life with her?

I know you're not ready to raise babies now, and that's okay. You've found the best solution to that, I think. I am content to wait for you, you know. Strangely this doesn't bother me — I'm… happy. Impatient for the waiting to end so that I can tell you in person until you believe me when I say I want you, in whatever capacity you will have me. Reveka, love, be safe, until you return to me.

Daenerys ties the folded letter to Serah's leg, sending her kiting off to find Reveka — and she goes, quite happily, for the dancer spoils the little green outrageously.

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