A/N: Just warning for descriptions of physical and sexual abuse.

Everybody's got a hunger, a hunger they can't resist

there's so much that you want, you deserve much more than this

but if dreams came true, oh wouldn't that be nice

but this ain't no dream we're living all through tonight

girl you want it, you take it, you pay the price.

~Bruce Springsteen, Prove It All Night

Viserys was still asleep when Daenerys finished her lessons the next day at noon, and she could have sang, had it not woken the sleeping beast down the hall. That meant that she had at least two hours of freedom before he woke and began his reign of terror all over again.

She hadn't been to school in five years, since she was ten and she had started to get little breast buds and her period, at which point Viserys thought it would be better to homeschool her. She had never understood why, but she had learned not to question Viserys's motivations a long time ago.

Most of the families Viserys tried so desperately to keep up with—the Baratheons, especially—sent their chidren to private schools that Viserys would have never been able to afford, so Dany counted it as a twofold blessing that he'd pulled her out: for one, she didn't have to spend every day putting up with the likes of Joffrey Baratheon, whose favourite hobbies seemed to consist of yelling at his poor sister and trying to stick his hands up girls' skirts (Dany got enough of that at home, thanks), and two, she didn't have to be further subjected to her brother's begging.

It hadn't always been that way—the money thing. When Daenerys was little there had been plenty, but Viserys had spent it all long ago on stupid things and by the time Dany turned five, they had nothing to show for it and for the past ten years they had relied almost entirely on the kindness of strangers (and friends of their parents who took pity on little Dany) to get by.

Dany poked her head around Viserys's door once more—still sleeping—and crept down the hall, putting on a light coat and grabbing her library card off the kitchen table.

She had first discovered the library the year after Viserys had pulled her out of school, stumbling upon it by accident during one of her long bike rides to escape his wrath, and had quickly come to relish in the sanctuary of the books and of the librarian, Mrs Stark, who always saved books Dany would like and never asked too many questions.

This afternoon she said hello to Mrs Stark as usual and then went straight back to her favourite section, ancient mythology, only to find it blocked off.

"It's being painted," Mrs Stark explained. "I saved a book about dragons for you."

Dany took the book, frowning, and settled into the window seat, contemplating the cover—a fearsome-looking dragon with magnificient yellowish-gold scales hovering off the ground and breathing fire.

Viserys insisted that dragons weren't real, that the books were trash, but in the dark warm places in Dany's mind, where she went when Viserys was angry or when he crept into her bedroom in the middle of the night when he thought she was sleeping, dragons were real, and they protected her, wrapped her up in their wings and kept her safe from all the evil her brother possessed.

She had barely cracked the spine of the book when she heard a familiar voice and her head snapped up. There was Drogo, talking to Mrs Stark about paint colours, wearing coveralls, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. He nodded at something Mrs Stark was saying and then headed back toward Dany's section. Dany buried her head in the book, pretending to be entirely absorbed in a passage about the origin story of dragons, hoping Drogo didn't notice her there.

But of course, Daenerys, with her long mess of white-gold hair, was not an easy person to miss, and Drogo noticed her almost immediately. "Dany?" he asked, looking curiously at her. "What are doing here?"

Dany stared up at him, her heart hammering in her chest, even though she wasn't really afraid. "Um, reading," she explained, holding up her book.

Drogo nodded. "Is good to see you again." examining the cover of the book, he smiled. "You like dragon?" he asked.

Dany shrugged and nodded. "They're my favourite."

"Mine too. But I must go work. It is good to seeing you again, Dany."

"You too."

She gave him a little wave, and she couldn't figure out why, but as Drogo walked away, he was whistling to himself.

By the time six o'clock came and the library was closing, Daenerys was growing suspicious. Usuay it was only an hour or two before Viserys came and dragged her home. Perhaps he didn't care. That thought made her shiver. Perhaps he was planning an extra punishment for her sins That thought made her feel sick. She pulled on her coat and trudged reluctantly to the door.

Drogo stopped her in the parking lot. "I give you ride?" he offered, gesturing toward the red pickup truck parked in one of the reserved for staff parking spots. Daenerys hesitated. "I have to go home," she explained.

"It is cold," Drogo pointed out.

Daenerys shrugged. She got into the car.

They drove in silence for what felt like forever, until Daenerys finally asked, "Where are you from, anyway?"

The corners of Drogo's eyes crinkled. "Croatia," he replied.

Daenerys smiled down at her book. "Not Russia," she said, remembering.

"No. Filthy Croatian." He laughed, and it sounded to Daenerys like music. Then he asked, "How old?"

Daenerys played with her hair. "Fifteen," she said finally.

An expression crossed Drogo's face that Daenerys couldn't quite read and then he gestured to himself. "Twenty-four."

Daenerys studied him. "You don't seem that old to me."

Drogo laughed. "You don't seem that young to me."

"My heart's older, I guess."

This time, it was Drogo's turn to study her. "I think you must be right."

The rest of the drive went by in relative silence, but it was a silence Daenerys found enjoyable, the kind of silence that happened when two people were completely comfortable with each other.

"Here we are," Drogo said once they pulled up to the house. The front light was on, which meant that Viserys was waiting for her. Daenerys swore under her breath. "Thank you for the ride," she said.

Drogo looked at the house, the dim glow of the front light, his expression hard. "Stay safe," he ordered, and then turned and did something no one had ever done before: he kissed Dany on the cheek.

Dany practically floated up to the house, a smile on her face.

Viserys was waiting for her by the door. "Who was that?" he asked. His voice was conversational, almost pleasant, and it was a trap. She knew it was, but Daenerys, still buzzing from the high of being kissed, fell right in. "A friend," she replied, calmly hanging up her jacket and breezing past him.

Viserys caught her by the arm, twisting her backward until she yelped. "Who were you with?" he demanded, raising his free hand to her.

Daenerys attempted to twist away. She knew it was fruitless, but something about the kiss had emboldened her, made her want to fight back for the first time. "I said a friend!"

Viserys clipped the side of her head with his fist. "Was it the filthy Russian?" he demanded.

Daenerys lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to hit her again. "He's Croatian," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Viserys looked triumphant. "So you were with him," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Daenerys," he added, "what did I tell you?"

Daenerys shrugged.

"I told you," each word punctuated with a blow to her head, her face, "not to associate with filth."

Daenerys gave in, crumpling into a ball and letting her mind wander, letting her dragon take her far away. This time he was hulking, with shining copper scales and, for some reason, a mane.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Viserys let her go. "Bed," he instructed her. "And if I ever catch you out of this house again, you're going to regret the day you were born."

I already do, thought Daenerys, but she said nothing. Getting to her feet, she stumbled into her bedroom to examine the damage in the mirror.

She had a bloody lip and her eye was sure to be bruised tomorrow, and the cut on her eyebrow was trickling blood down her cheek, smearing the spot where Drogo had kissed her an angry red, making her want to cry. But she was alive. The dragon had done his job once again. She cleaned her wounds, ignoring the sting of touching them, and pulled on her nightgown, saying a silent prayer that Viserys wouldn't see fit to visit her tonight.

It wasn't until later, when Viserys crept into her room and she pretended to be asleep as he pushed up her nightgown and did his dirty thing that it occurred to her: Drogo was another word for dragon.