I didn't expect being around dragons to be so uncomfortable.

It takes a lot for me not to explode in unfounded fury while being so close to them. Even being around Daenerys is tense. I don't think she notices but I definitely do. So does Lydia. She has the most difficultly do to her short temper. I'm hoping we get into some sort of battle soon so we can unleash our powers for the first time.

Looking into my mirror, I groan at what I see. It's been so long since I've shaved and my beard is outrageous. My fingers curl through the long strands out of instinct. I don't want to cut it all of a sudden but I do have to maintain it if I want to stay pretty.

I grab a makeshift razor I'd made almost a year ago and go through my process.

I cut my beardline into a sharper shape. Pull the longest hairs of it and cut them even with the rest. Once I have finished, I run a hand over my hair. Only to groan once agin. I forgot all about my long, black mane. It curls wildly down to my shoulder blades when I untie it.

"God, I look like Lydia," I whispered in annoyance. We are both cursed with thick, shining black hair. It curls like a writhing snake.

As I struggle to comb through the tangled mess, my chamber door creaks open. I grabbed my dagger discreetly and pretended not to notice my intruder. Their footsteps land softly, telling me the person is female. This doesn't soothe me. An assassin has no sex.

"Oerion was it? You seem to be struggling," Daenerys said from behind me.

My brows shot up and I turn around with a gruff expression. "Yes, I have no experience with my own hair it seems."

Daenerys chuckled at me as she came closer. Her face was serene and thoughtful. Her eyes drifting around my room and back to my hair curiously. I wonder what brought her here of all places in this god forsaken pyramid. We've only spoken about her war since I've been here.

"Your hair would be exquisite if you knew how to maintain it," she quipped. My brows shot up. I didn't expect kindness. "I can show you if you'd like?"

I pondered this for a moment and examined the woman. She seemed genuine enough. I could see that she held no background of fighting or killing by her own hand. I'd also like to feel a woman's touch again. It has been so long since I've felt the warmth of a kind soul, absent of lust.

I nodded slightly and watched as she moved to sit in a chair by my bed. She looked at me with a small smile as I eyed her. Something about this moment reminded me of my mother. Her soft gaze and patient stature. My heart clenched a bit. The memories rushing back.

I sat down between her legs with a sigh. She grabbed the comb from my hand and began her work. Her fingers massaged my scalp and detangled with the ease of a professional. I didn't mind the few snags she hit at all. Just having a woman's touch was enough.

"Why has your sister not helped you with your hair," she asked quietly. Her voice was not accusing or angry. Just curious and as soft as the candle light illuminating my chambers.

"I don't let her touch it," I said, almost inaudibly. Her fingers stopped for moment and I wanted to urge her on. "I don't let anyone touch it."

Daenerys hummed and began to braid my hair. From what I could feel, it was similar to the way the Dothraki have theirs. I pondered never cutting it until I lost a battle just like them. Having a woman want to touch it was rewarding enough to make me consider it.

"Why?"

I took a deep breath and looked down at my arms. Tattoos riddled my skin like warpaint. Aleksandra lie scrawled on my large bicep in Bravosi font. My mother would always be with me, if only in my skin.

"My mother was the only one that ever touched my hair. She is dead. Lydia is all I have," I whispered. Daenerys placed her hands on my broad shoulders to comfort me.

"Why are you letting me?"

I tense under her soft touch and turn to look at her. The look in her eyes is one I know too well. She expects me to make a move on her. She expects me, a warrior, to be overcome by lust and forget my pain. But, she doesn't know me at all. My father always said that a man's lust is his enemy.

"You remind me of her."

I felt like a weakling displaying my pain to this strong woman. I'm a huge man that would be formidable to any foe that stands in my way. I draw blood and fear from those who cross me and now I'm quivering under a woman's touch. Deep down I'm still that seventeen year old boy that watched his family die.

"Oerion, you have a family now in me. In every person who allies themselves with me. You and your sister will never be alone as long as you are with me," Daenerys said adamantly. I was now standing in front of her looking down.

She stood up slowly to look me in the eyes. Her hand came up to trace a long scar on my eyebrow. I closed my eyes at the touch. My right hand came up to grab her wrist and my eyes shot open as she jumped. The queen seemed surprised by how soft my touch was.

"You remind me of someone," she whispered. Her eyes were watery and threatening to overflow. I encased her delicate face in my hands cautiously. She leaned into them without hesitation.

"Drogo was the first man I ever truly loved."

I wrapped my arms around her as the tears spilled over. As the tears of this woman I didn't know at all ran down my chest, I felt something I hadn't in a while with anyone other than Lydia.

I felt affection. Pure and innocent.

When Daenerys finally calmed down, I loosened my grip on her. I watched as she stepped back and wiped the tears away. Turning back into that strong, regal queen that I met days ago. It seemed like she hadn't had time to grieve this Drogo. I hope that I helped her.

"Thank you, Ser Snow," she said, straightening her spine. Her eyes were glued to a spot just behind me. I quirked a brow at the title but said nothing. "I must retire to my chambers."

I nodded as she walked past me and made her way to the door. A small smile creeped to my plump lips without my knowledge. I know that she is extremely embarrassed about losing her bearings.

"Your grace," I called. Daenerys turned around halfway through the door. She seemed slightly annoyed at the title. Seeing as I'd refused to call her it earlier. "My door is always opened."

I could see the quirk of her lips by the candlelight. It made my own spread into a fond smile. This woman is warming my dead heart.

"Call me Dany."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Having Dany braid my hair became commonplace and so did our talks.

Tyrion gave me suspicious looks. Lydia glared at us. Missandei smiled discreetly. Varys just gave us a knowing look. They were all completely wrong.

Honestly, all we do is talk. Sometimes we cry and let our emotions out just to release the built up tension. Dany lets me hold her sometimes and other times she holds me. I am fond of her embrace. It reminds me of easier times.

One can't always be strong and fierce. After so many years of death and losing loved ones, you have to let go. I told Lydia this but she's too strong. She could never allow her guard to be let down. Even though I see her and Dany when she thinks I'm not around.

I notice the jealous glances she gives us when we're together and the happiness that lights up her face when she's talking to Dany. It has been two and a half years since our family died and I haven't seen true happiness blossom in her until now.

It almost makes me jealous...

Sure, Dany and I might talk about deeper things. Sure, we comfort each other emotional. But...our connection is not deeper than friendship. I would go so far as saying she is like a sister. Despite the odd vibes she gives me unknowingly.

I can see the effect she is having on Lydia and I quite like it. I just wish that I could have what they are moving towards. I've never been truly in love with any person. I want to know what that feels like. To be feel the need to protect someone other than my sister.

For the first time in months, I ponder crossing the sea to Westeros again. Something is calling me.