Neverwinter Forest dreamers of day are dangerous men

drogon does not hear her approach — but does not know whether it is because he is deep in slumber or because she is a silent and sure-footed lioness. he knows her immediately as she dispels the thick fog that had engulfed him. she looks like him ...or perhaps, rather more accurately, he looks like her. the weight lifts as the fog dissapates but talvella does not move. his legs are still as heavy as lead. roarke. roarke. roarke, roarke, roarke! everything he has worked tirelessly to repress, to protect The Family and more importantly to selfishly protect himself comes crashing down like a tsunami wave. there is a roar in his ears like the bellow of a mighty beast. liar. drogon...enok tundra...it was all lies. they spilled effortlessly off of his silver lacquered tongue like honeyed poetry, so much so that he had no longer been able to differentiate what was lie and what was truth. a symptom of his own creation, of course.

"no," he chokes on the word as it spills, raspy and breathless from betwixt his lips as the tule kotiin surrounds him. it is familiar. it calls him home ...but he has no home. no true home. nothing that is his. he has shelter and it is at the price of belonging to someone else. "no. i never forgot you, äiti," drogon pleas with his mother, because her disappointment is not something he ever desires. "i am your talvella. your wintersbane. always and forever." he draws his salmon pink tongue across his jowls as it occurs to him that he never answered her first question.

"to protect the family at all and every cost. that is why i call myself drogon," he tells her, averting his gaze for the briefest of moments before it zeroes back upon his mother's familiar form which is almost disorienting at how it resembles a femme mirror of himself. "but even then i disobey. i am selfish because i took ansbjørn for myself." it was not his and yet he stole it and sought to make it his own nevertheless.