I await the moment we are back in each other’s arms with breath that seems to catch in my throat, a nervous warmth that spreads across my chest, blooming in every direction like the most intricate spider web. It fills me with a kind of drunk passion, this dizzying need to be near you and a total obliviousness to every other thing that is happening around me — as exhilarating as it is terrifying. My entire body aches with this pulsing need to be reunited, but not as much as I anticipate the season three premiere.
Many are the times that I have shed a single, solemn tear while separated from you, torn from your arms like a flower prevented from being in the warmth of its crucial sun. Much like the scene where Daenerys believes in her hallucinatory state that she is reunited with her love and the baby they were destined to have together, I am filled with a tragic sorrow that can only be explained in whale-like moans of agony, longing in its volume to be heard by someone who can help. But only you can help, my love. Only you, and Khal Drogo.
The intensity of my attraction for you, this fire lit inside of me that I cannot control or suppress, burns with a relentless, heaving power. Much like when I look at Jon Snow looking all innocent and perfect and sexy-haired, I am filled with a profound need to touch the object of my desire — to make it know me the way I know it, to make it understand how much its presence means in my life. It is not enough to lust from afar, it is essential that I let Jon Snow (and you) know the depth of my sentiments.
I remember when you first went away, the visceral removal of this essential component of me, taken away too soon like Ned Stark’s head from his rugged, dirty body. I remember the feeling of loss, then sadness, then confusion — this great need to rectify the situation and curse the universe for having shown me something so wonderful and then leaving me with almost no time to enjoy it. Certainly I did not deserve this fate? Certainly Ned was taken before his time? Much like our separation, but in a more profound way, Ned’s departure left me physically cold.
But my candle will always burn for you. Just as the Stark family will march towards the battlefields with honor and persistence, I will not leave our love behind. I will care for you as Tyrion imagined no one would ever care for him (at least, until he grew to trust the warm, affectionate presence that Shae provided him). You will be my guiding light, always leading me to home the way Theon’s father leads him to be a terrible, terrible person. You are a part of me in a way I cannot explain, a love that can only be quantified or put into perspective when compared against a series as beautiful and violent and incest-y as GoT. Sure, you fall short when contrasted directly to the show, but the fact that you even register on the same scale is a testament to your importance in my life. Most people’s names aren’t even worth mentioning next to something as melodious as “Khaleesi.”
I love you, my darling. Just please don’t talk to me if you’ve read all the books, because I don’t want to accidentally hear any spoilers.