meadowlarklogs | [closed]

[It is obvious that she is still not particularly happy or comforted by Rey’s reassurances. she is visibly on edge, which just gives her the look of someone who is very tense and angry, like a rubber band pulled taught.]

Your confidence in that fact is touching.

[Its a dry reply, though she manages to wrestle down any sarcastic bite. She cannot be upset with Rey for being concerned for her well-being, even if she is still smarting from the implication that she does not know what is best for herself.

Still, it was not the first time she had needed to defer to council from outside her viewsphere. It would not be the last. Now, it was simply a matter of hoping that treatment would not trigger another, more volatile transformation.

She had not shared that fear with Rey.]

[Clarke takes longer than she'd like, but it's mostly because she's using public transit the entire way. Her experience with it is still limited: the fact that it went down for as long as it did is a big part of it. Plus, she needs to hit the safehouse to add to her supplies, grabbing gloves so that she can be prepared to do everything she needs. Whatever lies ahead of her, Clarke knows that her curiosity doesn't need to be fed into the link between her and the other person.

But she does get there. Clarke does intend to keep her questions to herself, but little does she know that she won't have to ask them at all.

Once she's there, she sends a message to Rey to announce her arrival. It's apparent that Rey wasn't like Eugenides and hadn't asked for a nicer apartment to serve their purposes. Then again, if it had been up to Clarke, she'd have a hole in the wall community room with a public rest room because of how little she cares.]

Hey.

[ her greeting is curt when she lets clarke in. rey's only here to try and smooth things over, which is the least of rey's talents. she steps out of clarke's way. the apartment's main living space is generous, although crowded with greenery that thrives even without light only because of who lives here. the kitchen and living room both look white and metallic and clean, despite the dingy and narrow staircase that led down to them.

if one were to ignore the fact that the shower and toilet seem to be hanging out in the kitchen, and the support beams in the middle of the room that mark it as a basement, and the absolute lack of windows, and the fact that one of the bedrooms is actually a closet, it might actually look like a decent space on the inside.

she gestures towards daenerys. ]

Uh, if you need anything, I can get ... whatever.

[Daenerys, for once, is not dressed for company. It seemed something of a faux-pas to bother, given what Clarke had been called there to do. The injury was not small by any means, after all -- it would not be as simple as lifting a shirt for a few minutes to apply a bandage. She knew well what to expect...or, at least, she thought she did. And perhaps that had been part of the reason she had been hoping she had some hidden factor to heal the damage she'd already mostly managed to resist.

But alas, it was not to be.

So the Breaker of Chains sits mostly straight-backed in the center of a dingy basement, long silver hair braided to the side, in a simple and loose linen top with a cowl hood and a pair of sweatpants that doubtless do not belong to her for any purpose other than to be used as sleeping wear. Her violet eyes are only momentarily distracted by Rey's awkward gesture (to which she earns herself a momentary blink of restraint) before they turn to sweep the newcomer in the room.

It takes effort to stand, but long years of fighting for her respect among others demands it of her. She must grip the chair in a certain way to keep from bending her lower back too much, but she does so in a way that is clearly trying to hide her injury, despite the fact that she's already been told Clarke is here to fix the problem.]

You must be Clarke. I am Daenerys Targaryen.

We met once. I was ... younger. [Six years younger, with a different way of carrying herself. A younger Clarke had a set and earnest jaw, a forehead showing lines of worry and stress. These days, Clarke carries her limbs more securely, more confidently. It's not with a sense of defiance born from a life that granted her the ability to do that. It's just because she's grown and changed. She may seem the same, from a distance or from a photograph, but she isn't.

Clarke debates clarifying what she knew about Daenerys, how Jon freely volunteered so much information about her life. She had even asked him why he had done that, but it hadn't worked well.

Given the circumstances—the telling movement, though she only pieces it together because she's known Rey as long as she has—it doesn't seem like the time to bring that all up again. Back when Clarke was less savvy, she saw it for a wound that it was. No need to bring it back.]

Where are you hurt?

[She takes a moment, looking at Rey.] My supplies should help, but are you familiar with them to hand me something when I ask? I'm used to working alone, but that doesn't mean I'll deny the help.

Sure.

[ she makes herself scarce, hovering at the edge of what would be an appropriate conversational distance. this isn't really about her. if anything, she feels like a caretaker, trying to keep the peace without actually being a participant. and she's not honestly sure she will know the terms for those supplies at all, particularly given that terminology has been one of her most pronounced culture shocks in coming to earth, but she'd sooner try than draw more attention to herself while daenerys is --

well.

being daenerys. this is hard for her, rey knows. ]

[She takes a moment to process, frowning in disbelief while she digs into her memory. Ah, yes, the festival. Recognition dawns on her face finally, though her posture doesn't change.]

Ah -- yes, forgive me for not recognizing you.

[The changes in Clarke are noticeable to Daenerys, at least, who had gone through a similar transformation when she was younger. That night was more of a blur than she cared to admit. So much had happened, so many changes. It seems farther away than it really is, and her expression sobers even more when she thinks of Jon.

Rather than dwell on that, she focuses on the other woman's question -- instead of verbalizing, she turns to roll up the loose shirt so that the wound on her lower back is easily visible. It's an ugly thing: a row of deep puncture marks made by something too large to be walking around New Amsterdam, now mostly clotted with dark blood. Surrounding them are hard, damaged black scales that seem to burrow to blend back beneath her skin, like an infection that hasn't quite healed. They continue near her stomach, which appears to have mostly healed on its own, but where properly healing and mostly human tissue still remains.

Daenerys eyes settle on Clarke's face.]

[The expression on Clarke's face is extremely readable. When Daenerys reveals the wounds, her eyebrows raise and lower, furrowing all at once. That response is noticeably not one of shock. Rey had told her not to ask questions. But Clarke doesn't need to ask. She has all her questions answered already, the pieces coming together. Why was Faith fighting her? It's not a question that needs to be asked here. For some reason, Daenerys' pride kept her from seeking out proper help.

But then, it's not as if she could say that a reptile attacked her. At least, not one of that size, and not so long after the one that already throttled New Amsterdam.]

I need to be honest here. I know how you got these wounds. I don't know the whole story, but I treated the other person who had similar ones. [The whole story is where she's lacking the pieces. But Clarke dismisses another party. It doesn't fit what Faith told her.

She breathes out slowly.]

Rey asked me not to ask questions. I don't have to, and it's only fair that I tell you the truth. I can treat you, and I won't ask who ... or why this happened. [Who. She corrects herself quickly.

To some degree, this is Clarke pulling on her diplomacy hat. Being candid but in a way that's only right and just.]

I just don't want you to find out that I knew later.

Another one of the Displaced did this?

[ rey can't help her own question. that had not been part of her understanding -- daenerys had held it back. in some ways, it slips out because the fact that clarke knows more about what happened than she does catches her off guard. she'd been prepared to deflect clarke's questions; not wind up with more of her own.

concern furrows her brow, but she tries to bite down on saying anything else -- an apology, a retraction, but especially any more questions or any further fussing. ]

[Seven damn it all.

A stormcloud of irritation appears on Daenerys' face that she makes no attempt to hide as she glances over toward Rey when she asks her question. She cannot exactly be annoyed at Clarke for having the knowledge, nor does she suppose that she should be surprised that this woman also treated Faith. Neither of them had walked away from that encounter unscathed.

Still, it's a brief look. Embarrassment and protecting her pride were only half of the reason she did not want to discuss the wound. The whole situation had been particularly traumatizing in a number of ways.]

Thank you for your honesty.

[She manages not to grit her teeth when she says it, and there is a short moment where visibly compartmentalizes everything else she feels and wants to say in favor of looking down at Clarke.]

It should be no trouble, then.

I'm sorry. [Clarke would have preferred this to just be the two of them. She's been called upon before to treat people here, back home, and it's surprising how many times it comes with dramatic reveals like this. It's better when there is privacy to be had, for information to be shared between just two people. From there, they can determine who else is able to know.

She debates defending Faith, but isn't surprised that she hurt someone and hurt herself in the process. Crusading for a cause that was never the right one, that never really existed. (Was it the right one? Clarke thinks of the City of Light and the lies it presented. Was it the right one? She debates that still, having the full memories of both lives heading in opposite directions.)

The debate dies in her mind, not even nearing her throat.]

All right. Settle in. You strike me as the type of person to grin and bear it, but if anything is too much or feels—wrong, tell me. Okay? I can't treat you if you're just braving it and I'm missing something.

[ she'd thought that she had gained some trust from daenerys, but what she really learns from the fact that daenerys does not even respond to her surprise is that daenerys is even more secretive than she'd realized. a troubled frown settles on rey's face, suitably distracting her from doing any of the purported helping she had offered.

instead, she keeps her distance, a specter at the edge of the room. ]

[Daenerys says nothing to Clarke's apology. Truly, there was nothing to apologize for. If she did not trust Rey, she would not have allowed this in the first place. If the information needed to be shared, she was no doubt one of the only people that Daenerys would have wanted in the room.

The expression on her face evens out when the scrutiny is pulled off of the event itself. She cannot help the small scoff that comes to her when Clarke vocalizes her assumptions about the kind of person she is.]

I would not know what to hold back, even if I were capable.

[This state of affairs wasn't exactly normal for her, even if she had been there for some time now. She'd tried to resist the transformations as much as possible whenever they came upon her, and the wounds had never been quite so deep thanks to how tough her scales tended to be.

She spares Rey a softer glance when she notices her absence. She knows well enough that she should not be so hard on the girl. After all, she had only been trying to help a friend. Perhaps it was her fault for expecting her to be less attached.]

Go on.

Sometimes not knowing is why people keep things to themselves, [Clarke says, completely unaware of how it's reminiscent of the silent tension in the room. Rey stepping away, body language changed. If anything, Clarke recalls the conversation that she and Rey had once about the Displaced, about Clarke herself. What she had done, what it meant for her to do those things. The price of survival in her world.

Frankly, she's worried she hit a similar nerve again.

As it is, Clarke gets to work. She doesn't chide Daenerys for keeping the wound to herself. Instead, she's silent and fastidious. On her neural implant, she takes notes and pictures as needed for her own references, and uses an antibacterial salve that's very similar to what she used for Faith: numbing the area so that Daenerys doesn't need to feel too much pain.

When she's nearly done, she says:] I have some pain relievers that I grabbed, but you'll need Rey's help to keep an eye on the wound and make sure there aren't any signs of infection. If you begin to feel ... ill after this, I want you to visit a doctor. I have a few excuses on hand that can explain this, and I volunteer at PRESERVE so it'll check out. They probably won't run anything that links it back to its source, and will want to make sure you have better antibiotics than what Morningstar keeps on hand.

[Which is a good set of medicine, but imperfect considering the circumstances.]

I can do whatever.

[ she interjects this lightly. ]

Cleaning it or ... just taking a look.

[ both feel faintly helpless, but healing gives little ground to the impatient. ]

[For her part, Daenerys is oddly quiet, though she does not appear to be making any great effort to mask the pain. Once or twice she winces through the application process, but it won't take too long for anyone in the room to realize that her silence is a result of information processing and compartmentalization.

As a result of that, she nods dimly in understanding up at Clarke.]

I do not imagine it will be a problem. I am not particularly adventurous.

[Nor did she take great pains to be overly physically active. The wound would have a chance to heal, as it already had -- only now, at least, it had proper help.

Rey's interjection earns her a glance in her direction, equally quiet but considerably less hostile than it had been a few moments earlier. She had to remember that Rey was only attempting to help -- and that she did not give the girl much cause to understand her by the very design of how they interacted.

She was secretive and suspicious by nature. It was not something easily undone.]

Thank you.

[She manages to get that out, at least, in reply to Rey's offer.]

[Clarke and Rey have been here long enough that Rey has some tells for Clarke. She knows what it's like to get Rey to finally back down, to make it so that the two of them don't discuss their differences until it's (almost) too late. She worries about what problems she may have introduced here. Worries, but knows she won't leave without opening her mouth about it.

Well, in an implicit way. But still: she's Clarke. She's much like a bull gone wild in a room. Give her an inch, and she'll take many more.]

That's good to hear. I'm going to talk to the last person you dealt with on an adventure. [Hint. Hint.]

And please call me if you have any problems. I believe I should get going. I have the sense that you two may need to talk yourselves.

[A beat.]

Just know that ... I think Zerzura had a role in this, at least to some degree. [Not think. She knows how Faith was fooled, but she doesn't know where Daenerys fell on that. So, uncertainty.]

I'll let myself out. [She begins to gather her things.]

[ Rey doesn't budge until Clarke is gone, feeling entirely on the outside of that interaction now that she knows Clarke, whom she had invited fully intending to have to hold things back from and keep from doing her usual probing, understood more of what had happened than Rey did. It stings. She's no good at pretending it doesn't.

So as soon as Clarke is out the door, Rey cleans up the rest of the mess of cleaning cloths. She does it quietly, but her physical presence is loud. Even pointed. ]

She didn't have to ask many questions. Lucky.

[ She barely bites down on her tongue to keep from something more snide coming out. Rey, it seems, is the only one who has to pry Daenerys open with a crowbar. ]

That is not the word I would use.

[Daenerys is clearly not cheered by the fact that Clarke possesses the knowledge she does -- but what was she to do about it? The knowledge was hadn, and whatever interpretation the other woman had of it...well, she didn't take great pains to correct it. How could she, when she only knew that Clarke had treated Faith?

But she knows Rey is upset to not have the knowledge herself.]

You are angry with me.

[ Why shouldn't she be? Rey has told her plenty, shared a home with Daenerys, made herself vulnerable to Daenerys in ways that are impossible for her, but that doesn't go both ways. It stings to be aware of it, to not be trusted by someone who she has been dependent upon. Rey huffs out a breath, turning away as she goes to pack some of the laundry away. ]

I'm not angry with you. [ She says finally, after letting her sigh buy her some silence to think further. ] I'm just angry.

[ It's not Daenerys' fault, really, that Clarke knew more than Rey did and that Clarke happened to be the one who could come and that Rey had this awful habit of giving more than she gets. ]

[Daenerys leaves the silence to hang for a long time, but she does not get up from where she had sat for Clarke's procedure for what may perhaps be a disconcertingly long period of time. The expression on her face might be familiar to Rey, one of someone trying to work through emotions they don't feel comfortable just laying down in front of God and everyone.]

My powers have progressed.

[That's what she settles on. It's like dipping her toes in cold water just to say it. But if Clarke had a narrative all settled and squared away, she couldn't afford to let Rey figure it out on her own.]

[ Rey stops what she's doing, turns around. It doesn't feel good for it to feel like she has dragged the truth out, like Daenerys is offering it only as a last resort against some worser outcome. She'd almost rather not hear it.

Almost. ]

You've never told me what it is, your power.

[ Evidence of one of Rey's fills the apartment, greenery thriving without sunlight. ]

That is because I was not sure, exactly. I have not told anyone.

[But Clarke knew now. She must have, if Faith told her what had happened. It was no longer a secret -- or as much of a secret as she might have wished. Because of that, Rey deserved to know.]

And I do not have control over it, on the rare occasion it does occur.

[That is offered as she manages to get herself to her feet, one hand supporting her injured back.]

I have the blood of the dragon. Quite literally.

[ Not just the blood. Rey's eyes dart to the hand that steadies Daenerys' back, doing some quick math. ]

Scales. You had scales.

[ And they'd lingered, even after the transformation was over, buried in the wound like sand. ]

You can learn to control it.

[ That's the first thing she says. She pushes herself towards reassurance, support. She'd felt so alone with her powers that she doesn't want to imagine Daenerys in the same position, except it's too late for that because Daenerys had hid it for this long. ]

You will forgive me for disagreeing. Dragons are not creatures to be tamed.

[She knew enough to know that it would be unlikely that she would ever gain full control over the dragon she had the potential to become, and that was perhaps what was most frightening about all of it.

Fire and Blood ran in the family. And while she might not have been quite so hot-blooded as her brother, she was hardly a wilting flower.]

I can suppress it. But once the change takes hold...

[She exhales her defeat.]

Edited 2019-12-07 01:49 (UTC)

I don't believe that.

[ Or rather, she doesn't accept it. Daenerys may have lost her temper a few times with Rey and others, but who doesn't snap every once in a while? That's not a sign that she can't ever gain control. And if Daenerys is still that dragon, then Daenerys can control herself. ]

It's still you.

[Daenerys smiles fondly at Rey. Her optimism might have been infectious, if she were anyone else. But given what had happened, she had a hard time absorbing that optimism herself.]

It does not feel like me.

[It feels like the dragon. It feels like Drogon, in his worst moods.]

Have you tried to do it on purpose?

[ It might, if she did. Feel more like her. That might be naive of Rey, but she will not be ashamed of that. Best to start simply, and accept complication from there. ]

What?

[She chuckles at the idea. It was frightening, painful, and downright dangerous. Why would she ever make an attempt to do it on purpose?]

Rey, I could kill someone. How do you imagine someone in New Amsterdam might react to seeing me like that?

Badly, given the last giant reptile to stomp around here.

[ She's blunt about that at least. ]

But that's exactly why it's worth finding a way for you to control it. [ What better way to fight a giant monster than with their own, good guy giant monster? Rey's already scripting Godzilla vs. Mothra in her head. ] So we don't start in New Amsterdam. We leave the city through the caves.

[ 'We.' Like it's a foregone conclusion that Rey would be there. She's not leaving anyone alone to fear their powers. Not now, not ever. ]

[Daenerys chews on her lip briefly before she catches herself and stops. She's afraid -- but she won't dare say as much. Truthfully, she doesn't know much of Rey's powers either, but she does know what her dragons have done to Westeros.]

I could still kill you.

[She gently shakes her head.]

I have no need for these powers. They are better left ignored, not stretched or tested.

I don't think you'll kill me.

[ To such a degree that she's willing to bet her life on it, apparently. If only Daenerys had a better understanding of the depth of Rey's faith and trust, then perhaps she would have shared this sooner. Despite the lies, Rey shares it without lapse. Her frustrated grudge does not outweigh the need. ]

But I do think a time will come where you need those powers, or you wouldn't have them. [ Such is the way of the Force, yeah? Or whatever gods, perhaps, that had some hand in these powers, according to the festival-goers. ]

And I am not willing to take that risk for the sake of an experiment.

[Her temper flares a little and her voice cracks, a combination of concern, stress, and fear. She did not have many friends in this strange world, let alone those with whom she felt comfortable enough with to share such secrets.

Enough of those close to her had perished. She did not want to start that cycle anew.]

I would never be able to live with myself, Rey. You understand that, don't you?

[ The flare of her temper, the sudden forcefulness of those words, gives Rey and unfortunate idea. She dismisses it as soon as it occurs to her because it's besides the point of what she wants. But it is not hard to imagine a version of events where Rey's pushing and baiting awoke the dragon inside Daenerys accidentally, where she got what she wanted but not in the safe, controlled context she is hoping to cultivate.

She softens, somewhat. Because she does understand. Carried on her back is the burden of both times Kylo had died at her side -- she is convinced that these are her fault, that they happened because she had insisted upon it and he would not leave her side. Not necessarily because he was ready or willing to accept that fate. More than that, she still blames herself for the deaths of all the Displaced who had been protecting Kurt Fischer when the UNA came. Those were on her hands, as surely as if she had torn them to pieces with her own dragon's claws. ]

Of course I do. [ Gentler, she still insists, ] But there are ways to reverse that, here, as long as someone knew when it happened.

I remember the last time I was promised life back from death.

[Has she told Rey of Drogo? She cannot remember. Frankly, it does not matter -- as far as she is concerned, it is no different. Death was death -- life returned from death would be a half-life, if it was a life at all.]

It is not what I want.

I don't believe there's any version of you that would try to hurt me.

[ This declaration drips naïveté. But Rey just looks faintly exasperated, like she can't imagine why Daenerys can't see it. ]

And I have powers of my own, you know. [ She doesn't necessarily consider herself unbeatable -- she remembers falling out of the window fighting the UNA, remembers getting black-bagged -- but she has concluded that it's hard to do and usually requires numbers or surprise. ] I could hold you back. I can help you.

Not on purpose. Have you never been told to leave sleeping dragons lie?

[She can affirm that much, but Daenerys senses Rey's exhaustion with her easily, and she starts to shut down some. Her head shakes, causing the braid that she had lazily pinned up to drop off the top of her head and dangle behind her.

She's managed to calm herself again, but she has to close her eyes to keep her breathing regular and her tone even. Coming down from her anger was harder these days -- a suspected side effect of her powers.]

I said no.

Yeah. I heard you.

[ Rey is forceful with the shutting of the cabinet she'd left open where she'd packed away some of the supplies she'd tried to get out for Clarke. She doesn't look at Daenerys, but rather to the front door and the hallway when she follows with, ] I have to go work. Remind me when I get home, and I'll help with cleaning and reapplying the bandage.

Of course.

[Daenerys also makes a point not to look at Rey as she departs, staring instead at some far spot on the wall. She knows well enough that she's upset Rey, and maybe that was wrong of her after all the help she was offered. But it was not a risk she could take.

If that damaged their relationship, well--]

Thank you.

[closed]

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