Ruin Me

Chapter Thirty Six

In the days that Daenyra had left Dragonstone in her children's stead, she had never been happier. She was in the thick of it again. She was at her husband's side as they coordinated soldiers and building efforts and food rationing, and training schedules. This was where she excelled. Much of the tasks she carried out were with a smile, including something as mundane as chopping wood or ensuring the men had water. And the men were careful not to underestimate her simply because she was a woman blessed with the title of Lady Commander. One of the first acts she performed when she arrived back in Harrenhal was organising a training ground for the men, one in which she herself demonstrated her skills. She was not talk. She had the skills that earned her, that befitted her the title of Lady Commander.

Daemon had never been more clear of mind. Having his wife's necklace around his wrist had been comfort, yes, but he still lay in restless sleep. Visions of him sitting atop the Throne still consumed his dreams but they no longer tormented his waking days. A bandage had been permanently wrapped around his wrist for he kept digging the edge of the pendant into his skin. The pain was reminiscent of that first time she had touched him, in the Throne room, that strangely addictive stinging sensation. How many lifetimes ago that had been where he was starved for her touch – for that of a woman who cared for him?

Lady Rhea had given him no thought when they were wed. Her vows had been stale, her movements at their wedding even more so. She had been cold even before Daemon struck her down and left her for dead. Daemon never had a taste for cold meat.

Laena was warmer. She was a dragonrider, she had to be, but she was also born of salt and sea. And there was nothing colder than the chilling bite of the icy waves, at least South of Winterfell.

Twas a good thing that Daenyra was never cold.

Daenyra was warm like dragonfire; she was fierce like it. She was sometimes a reflection of him. She had the temper to temper him, she did not stand for any of his nonsense that would have her or their daughters on the sidelines. She was the Dragon Princess, the Princess of Fire, with the way she stoked and tamed the fires of the army that both resided in and surrounded Harrenhal, with the way she saw to Myrrax and Caraxes when the growing weapons forges made them anxious. Daenyra was a beacon of hope that kept this army going. She was the light and the warmth that he clung to and that he sought desperately to make himself worthy of.

He was constantly seeking the approval that he was worthy his entire life. His mother, his brother, his second wife and now her. Yet, the difference was Daenyra was perhaps the only one who kept telling him that he was worthy, that he was a good man. Slowly, he was starting to believe it.

"Lady Commander! The last of the Rivermen have arrived. But there are no more cots to accommodate them," a knight said as he approached her.

"If there are no more cots, have the men start stringing up hammocks. If there is no material for it, start sewing some banners together. Have the woodworkers begin constructing more beds. If we are to house the greybeards as well, we shall need the space."

"Yes, Commander," he nodded before he walked out.

Daenyra had barely walked two steps before another came up to speak to her.

"Princess?"

"Yes, Ser Simon?" she asked as she continued walking at a slower pace to accommodate the old man as she oversaw the reconstruction of Harrenhal.

"Your husband requests your presence in the dining room. The new Lord Tully has answered his summons and has brought the Riverlords."

"Thank you, Ser Simon. Uh, wouldst you be so kind as to remind me how to get to the dining room?"