Claiming the Dragon

Standstill

"Sounds like someone is enjoying their visit to the Stepstones," Laenor grinned, sinking down into the dirt beside her and warming his hands in front of the fire. Rhaenyra nearly choked on her ale in embarrassment, glancing at her cousin. She was thankful for the setting sun, hoping the warm colors painting the sky disguised the flush of her cheeks.

"Was it that obvious?" she asked nervously.

"Cousin, I do believe you made most of camp jealous with the noises that left your tent." Laenor replied with an amused grin. Rhaenyra hid her face in her hands, groaning in mortification. "Relax, princess. You have every right; you are married after all..."

"It's embarrassing," she said, shaking her head. "Thank you for letting me know." Laenor continued to grin at her until she hid her face in her cup. When Daemon joined the group a few minutes later, Rhaenyra noticed the way the men shared a look with each other and her skin flared with further embarrassment.

"Are you worried for tomorrow?" she finally asked Laenor, effectively changing the subject. He pondered for a mere moment before he shook his head.

"We've done this all before, my father, my uncle, the prince, and myself. I find it rather thrilling, but I think most knights do. There are only two things in this world that truly make a man feel alive, dear cousin, fighting... and fucking..." Rhaenyra couldn't help but grin as he wagged his eyebrows at her, and then she grew serious.

"I don't want to fail, Laenor. The thought of death concerns me, of course, but failure... These men looking at me as nothing more than a helpless girl; confirming to the realm I'm every bit the feeble bird they believe me to be."

"Helpless girl? Feeble bird? When is the last time you looked in the mirror, dear cousin? You are a woman grown, a fierce dragonrider! Even if you did fail at leading men in battle, which you won't, you are far from either of those things." She nodded and chewed on her lip, her eyes finding Daemon's on the other side of the fire. The heat in his gaze as he stared at her warmed her insides and helped her forget her doubts for a moment.

Avy jorrāelan... He mouthed the words, and she echoed them back to him, adoration briefly replacing trepidation. Daemon was there with her; her father's love was with her. She could not fail...

Daemon snored softly beside her, drowsy from the wine he had consumed, but try as she might, Rhaenyra could not sleep. Eventually, she sighed and rose from the cot, pulling the furs up over her husband. The air was colder than usual, the wind blowing hard, when she opened the flap of the tent and stepped out through the camp. The dirt crunched softly beneath her feet as she wandered through the aisles of tents, apprehension swelling inside her.

"No, mate, you didn't see it. She scaled the fish and everything. I never seen a princess do that." She paused and listened from the shadows.

"So, she's willing to get her hands a little dirty. She's still playing a dangerous game. The battlefield ain't no place for a girl—"

"A woman, who will be queen..." she interrupted, stepping out of the darkness and toward the pair of guards. "Why is woman fighting for those she loves any more surprising than a man doing the same?"

"I'm sorry, princess," he stammered out, "I don't mean no disrespect, it's just... Blood and gore ain't fit for women's—"

"Women's delicate sensibilities?" she finished for him. "You are aware that blood and gore is precisely what brings children into this world, aren't you?" The man opened and closed his mouth, reminding the princess of a fish, and the other guard laughed.

"I told you, yer an idiot, mate." Rhaenyra smiled and continued walking, her hands clutched behind her back. Again, she found Warryk by the fire and took a seat beside him.

"I get the feeling you don't sleep much," she told him, gently bumping his shoulder.

"At home, under the furs, by the hearth, perhaps. Not out here, princess. You were unable to rest, as well?" She nodded and quietness settled between them. The wind whipped her hair about and Rhaenyra stared into the flames, hoping they would give her some sense of comfort.

"How long until dawn, do you think?" she asked softly.

"A few hours, still, princess." She wondered if the fleet would arrive by then, or if it would be closer to midday. The logs continued to burn, and Rhaenyra watched as the fire cracked and tiny sparks drifted out into the wind...

Daemon Targaryen rolled over in the cot, unconsciously reaching for Rhaenyra. When his hand gripped only furs, he blinked in confusion and raised his head. A sense of panic seized him as he realized she was no longer in their tent at all. The prince tugged his shirt and boots on in an instant, snatched Dark Sister from beside the bedpost, and strode from the tent.

Surely, she's fine... There are hundreds of men here... A thought that should have comforted him made his gut twist, for he knew, better than most, the depravity that some men were capable of. His pace quickened as he glanced about, searching for any sign of the princess.

And then, there she was, slumped on the ground beside the fire, breathing steadily as she dozed beside Warryk. Thank the gods... His shoulders sagged with relief as he sat down on one of the logs, rubbing his face in exasperation.

"She's been here for nearly two hours, by my guess, my prince. Fell asleep just a short while ago. I thought it best not to wake her." Daemon nodded but couldn't find the words to respond. Instead, he continued to watch his beloved sleep. When his back began to ache from the position, he scooped Rhaenyra up from the ground and carried her back to their tent.

"Daemon..." she muttered his name and shifted toward him as he placed her back in the cot. His chest seemed to tighten; his breath catching as he pushed the loose hairs from her face, watching her expression change in her sleep. Her eyebrows knitted together, as though something worrying passed through her dreams. A pang of guilt hit him as he thought of all that he had put his poor niece through. He loved her with his entirety, and yet she deserved better...

Rhaenyra had lost so much. She had missed out on a proper wedding, years with her father, a life of stability at court. She had endured the loss of their child alone. He gripped the edge of the cot as he recalled the repeated looks of heartbreak she had given him each time he returned from Dragonstone. She thought the worst of him, and he had let her; he had let them all. He had decided long ago that the worse someone thought of him, the less likely they were to be disappointed with his next mistake.

When he removed her boots, she shifted again, rolling over and reaching for the empty side of the cot—his side. His name fell from her lips again, so clear he thought her awake. Daemon shook his head as if the motion would clear it and reached to tug off his boots once more. Rhaenyra's body was warm when he climbed beneath the furs and he wrapped his arms around her, comforted by the sound of her breathing. The princess pressed her face to his chest and mumbled indiscernibly as Daemon pressed a kiss to her forehead. For the remainder of the night, the prince did not find sleep...