What started as simple infatuation became a strong, obsessive desire. Aegon Targaryen saw himself conflicted. His enemies daughter was all he wanted, and he would not be denied what he wants.
(I changed the time period, so months have passed, not just weeks.)
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𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲. Like a bird stuck in a cage. That is how Daella felt.
The heavy gates of the castle loomed outside her window, a constant reminder of her confinement. She could hear the distant clang of swords and the shouts of knights drilling in the courtyard, the thoughts of a war that raged on without her.
With the months passing, and the war of ravens continuing on, Daella grew more pregnant with the twins. Her once nimble frame now bore the weight of impending motherhood, and each day felt like a battle of its own.
She winced as she eased herself down into one of the armchairs in her large martial chambers. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the intricate tapestries depicting the money, or rather gold, that the Targaryen's had. She sighed, rubbing her swelled belly with a tender touch, feeling the restless movements of the twins within. Her eyes, heavy with fatigue, scanned the room, taking in the sight of her maidservants diligently tidying up. They moved with practiced efficiency, dusting shelves and arranging cushions, but Daella could sense their furtive glances, their silent curiosity about the future mother of their king's heirs.
Outside, a raven cawed, its mournful cry echoing through the stone halls. Daella's gaze shifted to the window, where the bird perched on a bare branch, watching her with dark, beady eyes. She envied its freedom, its ability to fly away from this place, far from the confines of her life. But for now, she remained grounded, her spirit caged by duty and the impending arrival of her children.
Soon, the door was pushed wide open, the hinges creaking under the sudden force. Aegon strode in, his cloak gleaming in the flickering torchlight, his eyes alight with a triumphant gleam. He wore a grin that spread from ear to ear, the kind of grin one might expect from a man who had just won a hard-fought battle. His chest was puffed out, his steps almost a swagger, as though the very air around him was meant to celebrate his presence.
Daella, sitting by the window, could feel her irritation bubbling up. It wasn't just the audacity of his grand entrance, but the insufferable pride he carried with him, a constant reminder of his newfound status. He was always so proud, so annoyingly self-satisfied about becoming king. Every gesture, every word seemed laced with a self-congratulatory tone that grated on her nerves. It was as if the crown had amplified all his worst traits.
She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the simmering annoyance. But as Aegon's grin widened even further, Daella knew it would take more than a few deep breaths to quell the storm brewing within her.
"Sweet wife, I have sent my brother off to fetch Lord Baratheon to our side," he hummed, leaning down to place a kiss upon her cheek. Daella quickly moved away from him in annoyance, her patience wearing thin.
"I doubt it'll work. Lord Borros is an overly proud man," Daella muttered, her eyes narrowing as Aegon placed a hand on her swelled belly. The touch, meant to be tender, felt like a reminder of her confinement and the power dynamics at play.
