For a century, the Targaryens held sway over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros: from the arid deserts of Dorne to the icy expanses of the North, from the verdant plains of the Reach to the rugged coasts of the Stormlands. Yet, amidst the splendor of th...
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A few hours later, as the morning sun shone directly into his face through the window in the brothel's stone wall, Daemon woke up with a pounding headache. He couldn't resist the temptation to roll over in an attempt to escape the relentless sunlight. How long had he slept? Two, three hours, if that? He lay on a mattress on the floor, his head resting on a foul-smelling pillow, covered by a blanket that was even worse. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to block out the bright light and piece together his memories of why he was there. When it all came back to him, he regretted remembering.
Daemon couldn't decide what was worse: abandoning Siveen or fleeing like a coward to seek the company of Mysaria, with whom he had done nothing but talk before drunkenly collapsing onto this disgusting mattress. He suspected he hadn't even managed to cover himself, as that must have been Mysaria's doing. The thought that his body had likely absorbed the stench of this makeshift bed made him grimace.
Just as he thought he had successfully banished the sun by squeezing his eyes shut tightly enough, he realized it wasn't the sun that had disappeared but rather a shadow that had fallen over him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked several times, the brightness burning his retinas, until he recognized Mysaria standing before him in her white gown, her long black hair cascading down her shoulders. Mysaria had once been his concubine, a relationship that had become strained after he had taken her to Dragonstone for six months out of frustration with his brother and his own position on the royal council. Those events were nearly five years behind them.
»Are you holding me prisoner here?« he asked with a somewhat forced smile, looking up at her. But the longer he looked at her, the more her face blurred, and he saw Siveen's instead. He saw her long black hair and suddenly smelled her sweet scent, which only made him close his eyes again, as he couldn't deal with those thoughts right now.
»So, like you once did with me? I'm protecting you, for your own good,« Mysaria's soft voice cut through the fog in Daemon's mind. She bent down and picked up a small glass that had been placed beside him on the floor. »Drink this; it will clear the haze,« she said, holding the glass out to him. When he didn't immediately take it, she grasped his hand and wrapped it around the glass, forcing him to open his eyes. As he did, he was relieved to see the serious face of his former lover, instead of Siveen's.
With a groan, Daemon struggled to sit up, glancing at the glass which contained a milky liquid. Rather than drink it, he let it fall to the floor, spilling its contents.
»As if I need the protection of a common whore,« he snapped, channeling his frustration towards her, before closing his eyes again, attempting to escape from everything and everyone.
»I'm not so common,« she retorted, standing up.
»Then, an uncommon whore,« he corrected with a mocking tone, managing a small, bitter smile.
»I've left that life behind,« Mysaria said, standing in a way that blocked the blinding sunlight. »The horizontal trade only takes you so far.« Daemon couldn't help but smirk at her words. It was the horizontal trade that had brought her to his side years ago. He had never found pleasure or even conversation with his Bronze Bitch, so he had sought solace in Mysaria instead.
