『 : ̗̀➛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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"You said you wouldn't do it," said Daenerys. Her gaze was a disapproving look of anger. "You said no harm would be done to Ser Laenor Velaryon."
"No harm befell him; we only cut off his hair," Daemon spoke like what he did was nothing.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, startled. "There is a body in the drawing room! Not only does he have no hair, he also has no face! He is burnt all over, and his skin is so melted that he is unrecognisable!"
She let out a breath of horror. Her hands cupped her own face as if trying to wake up.
"So, the corpse is a bit toasty," Daemon said in a calm tone. He stepped closer to her while he gave his explanation. "Don't trouble yourself with that. It was a necessary step," Daemon explained with a sense of callous disdain. "We had to have a believable body to present." His indifference only served to further highlight the gravity of what he had done.
"Present?" she asked. "Present what? How horrible we are? How cruel and self-righteous, selfish and corrupt?"
He grabbed her by the arms, holding her firmly as he tried to explain himself and put her at ease. He was attempting to rationalise and justify his actions, but it was laced with a touch of arrogance.
"None of that," he spoke with a slight edge in his tone, almost like an annoyed older sibling. "I had to make a difficult choice, and sometimes it's necessary to be ruthless." As he spoke, his grip on her arms tightened. "This was necessary, and you can't change that. Don't forget, I did it all for you."
"For me?" she repeated. She didn't like that; now he wanted to blame her.
Frustration and defensiveness flickered across his face, his lips drawing into a tight, tense line. "Yes, for you," he answered, his tone becoming firm as if he thought she was being naive or foolish. He held her arms a bit more tightly, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Everything I've done has been for your benefit. I've made sacrifices and taken risks. I'm the only one who truly understands how this works. You're too noble, too soft, too nice, too...good."
"You killed Rhaenys' son!" she accused him.
He took a deep, sharp inhale, his own temper flaring. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he tried to control his emotions but failed to fully do so. "I did not kill Ser Laenor Velaryon," he said, doing his best to remain calm.
"Then your men did," she muttered.
He exhaled deeply through his nostrils, fighting the urge to lose his temper further. "My men?" he asked. "What men? Daenerys, you idiot, I don't have any men. Not anymore," Daemon implied. "What I've been trying to tell you—"
