Princess Maegelle Targaryen knew the importance of balance and unity, she learnt it from deceased her husband. Now that her mother is to the worms, she must return to Kingslanding and protect the claim that her father has bestowed upon her.
"You ne...
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House Targaryen always held lavish feasts, instilling in everyone's mind that the kingdom was at its peak; that this type of splendor could only be achieved by the family. Thus, quelling rebellions before they could form, according to Viserys.
"Where is Rhaenyra?" Maegelle tilted her head. Daemon chuckles beside her. "Don't you ever tire of your father's feasts? I'm sure that she's retired to her chambers with Lady Alicent." he surmised, already used to the younger niece's routine. "- when I become Queen, we mustn't tire of feasts." she reminded him.
He chuckles in response, motioning for the servant to fill his cup to the brim. Everytime he was around her, this fire in his heart refused to subside. It grows by the very minute and consumes his soul greedily. Everytime he sees her with a child wrapped around her chest, or around her waist – the feeling grows. He thinks about having her filled with his children, loving them.
"I was about to propose a better way of passing time." he breathed out, leaning on the soft chair. He wanted to start another conversation, get to know her better. Daemon wonders if she could feel his adoration, or did she see it for something else?
"If you are bored, Daemon, you may dance." she pointed at the other lords and ladies dancing. Maegelle was never a dancer, she'd rather knit by the fire or read a book. "Without you?" he frowns, still oblivious to the effects of alcohol.
Daemon on his own was bold, but with wine in his hands – he was crazy.
"I'm not a dancer," she admits, continuing to watch the dancers. "I could teach you, as I have trained your son with sword." he offers, thinking of different ways to be closer. "If the lessons include going home covered in mud, then I must decline." she taunts, her eyes dancing across the room, soaking in the familiar faces. She's spent too long in Kingslanding, she misses home. She misses the familiar faces of her husband's bannermen, and a few months from now Daemon will be her husband.
"- dancing takes precious time. Time that I would rather spend with diplomacy." she turns him down, also taking a sip of her wine. "Dancing is also as important as diplomacy. We choose our partners, as we choose the people we make dealings with." Daemon replies, his eyes piercing through her whole existence.
The years in Winterfell may have buried the dragon inside of her, but he'd fight well to have it back. "You shall be the first Queen of Westeros. A Queen that rules in her own right, mistakes should seldom be made." he advised, it seemed like the wine also made him wiser.
"I always thought that if I got married again, that lord would force me to obey him. He'll rule the kingdom in all but paper. I'll love him the same way a slave loves his master, but you're different, Daemon. Till now, I don't know if I'm making the right choice." she admitted, not giving him another second to speak.
On paper, their marriage would be the union that'd end all wars. Westeros would willingly accept Maegelle knowing that Daemon was there to rule beside her. "Men have always been drawn to birds, and they lock them in cages." she added with a chuckle. "Why would I want to lock you in a cage?" he frowned.
She's spent far too much time in the North. It made her forget about the Valyrian traditions. A woman can rule according to their traditions. And there is nothing a man can do that a woman cannot.
As the hours passed by — their souls opened slowly to each other. A glass of wine became two, and then it became an entire bottle. Normally, Daemon wouldn't be drunk (maybe slightly wobblish) but this was strong Dornish Wine. Its alcohol content was akin to untapped ale. As he downed his last drop, his hands lazily found it wrapped on her shoulder — and she leaned on his chest. "Should I call Ser Aran and have you brought to your chambers?" he slurred slightly, his vision growing scarce from the alcohol in his system.
"He's in the north — he wanted to be home for the birth of his child." she replied with a small yawn, her eyes fluttering as the people around them began to blur away. She could even remember where her father had gone off to. He's been gone for four-hours. "You should bring me to my chambers." she mumbled, feeling the tiredness sweep over her soul.
"That's craazzy!" he yaps — feeling the world spin around him. 'Fuck Dornish Wine.'
But her answer took him by surprise. He was assuming that he was the one who made that offer. Actually he wasn't sure if it was her or him — the wine made his memory foggy. "I don't think we're allowed to sleep here." she pointed out, looking around to see only a few nobles left in the halls. It was probably past midnight — the moon was high and the breeze told her that it was bedtime.
"How do you know that?" he asked, feeling her stir in his arms. "I don't know." she replied sluggishly, "Please just bring me to my room." she whined, not liking all the eyes on both of them. "Uhuh." he relented, attempting to stand up and bring her with him.
—
They reached her room with lots of effort. Maegelle made sure that he would collapse on the halls, and he made sure that she would fall asleep in his arms. His hands reached for her door, pushing it open with ease. Her room smelled like lilies and rain.
The air inside felt refreshing. She took a step forward, almost collapsing on her bed, then she looks at him. "Stay." she demanded, as she laid on the bed in a starfish position. She saw him toil and limp on the way. He was sure that he'd faint if he walked another step.
Daemon didn't argue with her. He was tired and drunk. His vision was hazy, and his tongue tasted like wine. He places the dark sister on her bed-side, startling her with it's simple sound. Then his hands move towards his metal belt, removing it lazily and placing it on her bedside table. Her eyes closed softly, feeling his hands trail down to her legs and remove her shoes.
She forgot that she was wearing shoes.
Her eyes open once more, because of the falling feeling on her side. He laid there too — with his body pressed upon the mattress. She moves her body sideways, so that her arms would be around him. The world was moving — and he was a rock. He yawns, kicking his boots away — leaving tattered marks on her floor.
His eyes opened and their eyes meet. He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent — and staring at her lips that were mere centimeters away from his own. She was a damn temptress — a seductress that came down the earth to ensnare him. "zōbrie ābra. (dark woman)" he whispers, and she shudders at his hot breath. He smelled like delicious wine. "ōños āeksio, (light lord)" she replied with a lazy smirk.
She found him beautiful, while he couldn't speak — in the fear that the moment would slip away. "Daemon." she broke him apart from his trance, and his vision became clearer. "Do you believe that I'm beautiful?" she inquired curiously, seeing if he saw more to her. "Se kostōba, (and strong)" he replied with certainty. The strongest person he knew didn't wield a blade.
She lifted her hands, and placed it on the side of his cheek. His body was warm and filled with life. She didn't speak, she stared in his eyes and brought her head closer for a kiss. She could almost taste the wine in his tongue, and she could feel the warmth of his breath. It was endearing and beautiful. She craved after it like a drug — like it was the reason for her intoxication.
