this is a portrait of a tortured you and i

It is almost ironic how his demon had no name, he hadn't cared to obtain such useless information when he had torn his head from his shoulders. To him all that mattered was the reason for Orra's death had been avenged. But the aftermath of that revenge was far darker than he had ever anticipated. After the taste of power and blood he had unknowingly began his path for destruction, creating a throne of all those who dared him. Their resistance worn so heavily upon his face and body, any problem or dispute was solved by fangs, deceit, greed. Without Orra to steer him he had welcomingly wallowed in the life that had taken the only one he had ever loved. Not even his sister could be saved from his clutches. He had nothing to fear, nothing to lose, so he thrived on his lonely throne, until life seemed to crash around him and the little boy inside that he thought had died with Orra had slowly begun to reappear.

Here. Now. In this moment, every memory is surfacing like a rush of waves. The fear he feels at losing her to the same demon that took Orra it is enough to send him back into the darkest places of his mind. Every little detail of his death replays like a video, from hanging flesh to pools of blood. The nightmare recreating his first of many mistakes. He should have never let her go alone, he should have been with her and kept her safe; instead he had stayed behind. So his demon took her and now he was back and wanting the other. To see the red that marred her was like a blow to the face, for who was he kidding? Everlyse had once told him he could never save anyone.. Not this time. He would not allow him to take the one he was coming to care so deeply for.

Orange eyes glare at the shifting shadows, waiting to see him rise from the darkness. The touch at his side lets him know she is at his side, but he is wrapped up in what images his mind is feeding him her words are muffled against the fear and rage. He should have known his past lay still buried, untouched yet waiting to resurface in this new world. So worried about the reaching of his name he had forgotten about his own memories that lay within. So afraid to look at her, at Daenerys to see her scarred by his doings; would she look at him with disgust? hate? Would she push him away from the life he had once lived and by the demons that swim deep within? No, he can't. To see that would be witnessing a death, a death to something he craves for. So he focuses on the task at hand, the task of ripping the foe limb from limb, and this time there would be nothing left to resurface and take her.

As he moves to step, a burst of air by his shoulder draws hardened orange eyes. Lips drawing to reveal deadly fangs as his fur ruffles and rises. Until he realizes it is Daenerys. No! It was not safe, he could be anywhere! Why was she rejecting the safety he offered? He cared for her! What did that mean? Would he give his life for her's should his demon come to collect. Damn straight! She had been the only light that had willingly stayed close to him despite his appearance and overall ineptness. Over the months, all the time they had spent together surrounded by children or even in solitude, he knew something was shifting within. She was happiness, maybe the one he sought.

Watching her rub along the grass, orange eyes begin to soften unsure of what she was accomplishing. She needed medicine, she needed help. She would do nothing but aggravate her wound and the thought of her adding to her pain causes him to step forward prepared to stop her. This was his fault, not hers. But before he can complete the distance her words cause him to stop. Look at her? Did he do that enough? Why would he want to see her stained coat? Why would he want to see her pain? Ok? This was not ok. But he can't refuse what she asks of him and so slowly does orange eyes start from her toes, gliding along her limbs - a deep swallow as he reaches her chest, what he finds causes his head to turn, confusion evident in his gaze. The one bloodied hairs now held nothing but a slight pink tint, with no wound in sight. Quickly do his eyes find her face, noticing the lack of red and flawless design of her face, those warm eyes pleading with him. She was fine? Safe? He hadn't harmed her?

"I thought he... he hurt you." He swallows loudly, a slight sheen in his eyes as he looks at her over and over again. "You were bleeding, I thought he tried to take you." A step forward. "No pain, right? Your safe?... I need you to be safe." He begs her, wondering if this was just another dream, teasing him with hope that she was fine. It had felt so real, watching him land blows upon her, while she valiantly fought against him. For a brief second he glances around, noting the shadows were just that shadows. Looking back at her, "He's not here.. you're ok... i'm sorry.." And then he is there before her, as if touching her will chase the doubt despite her words. As his muzzle turns towards her chest, his nose running along the hairs seeking the wound he thought had existed, finding nothing. Safe.

The warmth that meets his face causes him to pause, as she begins to clean away the blood that had been transferred when he had touched her before. With each swipe she comes into contact with his scars, they were too many to avoid even though it seemed she was doing her best to find them than avoid them. The bristled hairs along his spine seem to settle with each breath and caress she gives, until he is just standing there and feeling. Soaking in her warmth as he tries to absorb all the facts now that he knew it had all been a nightmare. She was safe. She was safe. She was safe. "It was a dream, your safe." Then silence, as he soaks in the comfort and the fact she was unharmed. Knowing questions were bound to come, once their emotions had calmed. Til then he would soak in the comfort of knowing she was unharmed and before him. For soon he would have to voice his fears to the only one who had the power to break him.

Jericho

All of the laws I've broken, loves that I've sacrificed