green lies, black hearts

XXXIV

a/n - thank you all for your patience. I desperately needed a break. and a happy (very) belated one year anniversary to this fic, thank you all for reading :,)

- mint

~+~

Daemon

Daemon read the letter. He read it twice. And then he read it a third time.

He knew. He knew this was what awaited them all. What awaited his daughters-such was the burden of being a woman. But it didn't make it any easier to swallow. It didn't make it any easier to be okay with it. Daemon clenched his jaw and tossed the missive onto the painted table.

"It was due to pass," Rhaenyra whispered softly. "I merely wondered how quickly."

"She shouldn't have wed him."

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, glanced to the crackling fire, and then rounded the table to join Daemon near the carving of King's Landing. His eyes were narrowed at Dorne. At Sunspear. "She had to, my love. We have the entirety of House Martell, and thus, Dorne at our beck and call. War is to come soon, especially with..."

(They need not give voice to the violence they approved.

The violence they thought necessary.)

Daemon knew she was right. He knew. He knew. He knew.

(And he knew he had no right. Not when Rhaenyra was younger than Shaera when he took her to that brothel. Younger than Shaera when he wished to see her wed to him.

The one thing he's ever wanted in his life.)

He turned, and Rhaenyra lifted her hand to his check, stroking the deepening lines of age that painted his face. She smiled softly, and Daemon took solace in the sadness reflected in her purple eyes. The most beautiful shade he's ever seen. He reached for her hip. For her. They both lost pieces of themselves-far too much too soon-and they only could trust in each other. In their remaining children. In their remaining family. But nothing was so simple. They could only find reprieve in their lingering touches. In moments like these when they knew none could hurt them.

"You've sent the raven to Sunspear?"

Daemon nodded. "Oldtown will be nothing more than a memory; Qoren assured me."

His queen hummed, slowly, thoughtfully, and she brushed some hair from his face. "Are we prepared?" Soft. Quiet. Unsure.

"Not as much as I would like, but" -Daemon glanced down at the map, and his eyes narrowed in on a specific keep he knew could help- "we can only do so much. Retaliation is soon. I dare not wonder how great it will be."

"I need you here," Rhaenyra begged.

Daemon's smile was rueful. "You need me doing that which I've always done best, my-"

"Being a father. My husband." She gripped the front of his tunic, tugging him away from thoughts of Harrenhal. "I need you here, burning alongside me, Daemon. I cannot do this without you!"

He took her hands into his. "And you will not. I shall only be there for a time. Long enough to secure the Riverlands against the Westerlands and King's Landing. If we can pinch the traitors from the land and the sea, well..." His lips twitched with a smirk. For a moment, he would allow himself the fantasy of such a beautiful victory. It was one he employed once or twice against Qoren Martell's ships so many years ago.

(And now that prince was married to Daemon's daughter. The necessity and understanding made Daemon sick, but he...he supposed it could have been worse.

It could have been that one-eyed usurper.)