The fire dance

Turn a blind eye

Honour was something each one truly desired through ages, at the leverage of childhood all through the glory of the old days; Targaryens for Aquire bid for honour since birth to death. Ever since the first of their name all to the glory of the last.

Daenys II was no exception

A women of pure manipulative delight, deceit and lies. One of the last and first Targaryen women that ceased the throne for their own valour, not for their husbands or sons but for their own sake.
Far from the truth was that of the capacity of the ones around wished for a women to sit the Iron throne, they desired a conquer so for that Daenys Targaryen would grand them one.

Just hours after the receive of the announcement of the engagement the reed keep had not held back their pockets from granting any fancy of a royal marriage, especially the first of the realms sweetheart. However their aspirations were smudged under the foot of the princess as she had no wish for a grand 10 day feast that would fall over their heads.

It hadn't been that she loathed celebration, Far from it she actually greatly enjoyed the fuss of balls in the honour of herself although she had not felt the need or want to indulge herself in the catastrophe of the current event, not when the love of her life had yet again been exiled and send away.

Not when she was bound by chains for the favour of the throne, but she had to make sacrifices; sacrifices that would bring her family honour.

Daenys had not been able to converge with the rouge prince as he bid his departure far in the early stages of the light after she announced herself to be marriage.

His departure pained her further more than the arrow she had received back to the Stepstones. This arrow burned far greater than any other, but she was a grown women, one who had to make decisions for it to lead to the right path and so, Tycell Lannister was the key to ones path.

The organisers were among the most brilliant of efficiency as their skill was brought all way from the great lands of the golden roses; The Tyrells.
Their ability to turn a bundle from spikes and thorns to the greatest blossoms of red,gold and white roses brought custom to their house as the Lady's and handmaids laboured for many hours and hours. And so finally preparation was concluded, the wedding may ultimately take place one and for all.

" You look beautiful " Rhaenyra had placed two arms over the shoulders of her sister as they both stood in the sight of the mirror as they gaped at the solidarity of themselves. Daenys, the bride was clasped within divine materials, silk and mesh adorned her flesh as the colours of gold and red defined her structure greatly.

" Only if I felt the same " the women gritted her teeth as the handmaidens pooled around herself working final touches on the white strands of mane the princess possessed. They had all put together the last gem, the fierce blood red dragon brooch that swept all the attention as it shined further back than any other

A once gift from Daemon

The mere thought of the man impaired scarcely on her heart as she thought back the thoughts. This was her wedding day to her lawful honourable lord soon to be husband, Daemon was gone and so it had to remain that way; for her duty and her throne.

" Leave us alone would you " Her younger sister dismissed the small folklore that had gathered to prepare the princess as she had now came face to face with her sister.
" I apologise, I fell like this is all my fault sister. If only I had not left the reed keep that night maybe the events would be different " Rhaenyra explained as she grabbed the oldest hands.

Daenys only huffed a laugh as she shook her head " It is not your fault, you had a desire for freedom. After all you yourself are engaged no? " the sisters strained at each other as they knew they were only following duty, thou they both yearned different paths.