『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
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"Sit still," Daenerys instructed him as he moved for the fifth time. Last night's plans with the city watch earned him quite some bruises, but he refused to see the maester, so she had to take matters into her own hands. She tried to clean his wounded cheek, but he continued fussing.
"Are you going to fuss over me all day, wife?" came Daemon's muffled inquiry. No doubt, he seemed a bit grouchy. Though Daenerys knew by now that even Daemon's worst moods were nothing personal.
"All week if I must," she told him, raising his chin up slightly to get a better look at the bruise.
Daemon winced in pain as she raised his chin. "I'm not a child to be tended to like this," he muttered, more irritated at himself than with Daenerys. "If you must fuss over me, a kiss will suffice. You know I hate to be coddled."
"You could think about that before you took your men to the city and had a killing spree," she told him while soaking the cloth in a bowl full of water.
Daemon was not expecting Daenerys to chastise him over his little rampage. It was nothing serious—just a bit of fun and discipline for the Gold Cloak scum. "That was not meant for you to hear about," he protested, shifting into a more comfortable position as his princess tended to him. "I only had my men put a stop to these thieves and cutthroats. It's nothing to be concerned about."
"I bet Viserys disagrees. I told you that it is not in our interest to return to Dragonstone so quickly. The children are so excited to be in the capital," she said, brushing his hair to the side.
Daemon grumbled his dissatisfaction at Daenerys's response. "Viserys is too obsessed with diplomacy. These are criminals we're dealing with, not lords of the realm. He shouldn't worry about their feelings so much."
She sighed and sat down beside him. Her hands took hold of his face, and she pressed her lips to the side of it.
Daemon melted at the gentle touch of his sister's lips on his cheek. She knew exactly how to soothe his moods. He leaned into the comforting gesture, appreciating every second of affection she showed him. He could have her attention and affection for hours if it were up to him. If only she wouldn't fuss so much...
"If Aemma's child truly is a male," she started softly, "We'll just have to deal with it. I told you long ago, that the throne was never meant for us to sit on."
"Are we going to speak about that already?" Daemon sighed, his tone becoming frustrated. He looked away, turning his back to Daenerys.
She was right, of course. The Iron Throne was not meant for them, but it did not mean that they could not fight for it. He was tired of being overlooked.
