Flames, Embers, and Ashes

Flames

Whether Daenerys loved Daemon, as those who rose for the Black Dragon later claimed, who could say? In the years afterward, Daenerys was never aught but a loyal wife to Prince Maron, and if she mourned Daemon Blackfyre, she left no record of it.

In the fireplace, a huge log was still burning – a clear sign that the Queen was here. Daenerys looked around and saw her, with one of her favourite ladies-in-waiting, a woman of the Stormlands whom Daenerys' father had forced on his goodaughter, to keep an eye on her for him, most likely. The two women sat in the shadow cast by a curtain but they were in no way shadowed – they listened attentively to the two men's conversation, nodded, or shook their heads. Actually, the moment Daenerys was admitted, Lady Elanel was saying something and the King and his Hand listened intently.

Slightly awkward to intrude upon what was clearly a discussion of matters of state, the girl started to edge back but Daeron noticed her and smiled in welcome. "Come here, Daenerys," he said. "Take a seat."

She dropped a curtsy to him and the Queen and took the chair she had been offered. All of a sudden, her courage threatened to desert her, so she thrust her chin out before that could happen and said, "I was hoping I could have a word with you, Your Grace."

Her defiant expression made him raise an eyebrow but he looked at his companions and said, "Later, we'll take on from where we're leaving. Daenerys clearly has something urgent to discuss."

Ah, how she loved him, this brother who could be her father indeed! Daenerys had recently celebrated her fourteenth nameday and more than anything, she longed for others to treat her as the woman she felt she was, rather than the child they still thought her.

For a moment, she was afraid that the Queen might decide to stay. She could never speak candidly with Mariah of Dorne in attendance. Oh she had little doubt that Daeron would later tell her all about their conversation. But it wasn't the same thing.

To her relief, Mariah rose and left, trailed by Lady Elanel and one of those scents Daenerys always associated with her, heady and enticing.

"Well?" Daeron asked and poured her a goblet of wine. Pleased, Daenaerys noted that he didn't dilute it. Only children drank heavily diluted stuff. "What do I owe this pleasure to?"

She swallowed hard. "I know about your intentions to reconcile Dorne to your rule," she said and reached for the goblet to twirl it between her fingers.

Daeron didn't remind her that it would be hard for her not to know. He didn't keep his plans in secret and he had told her the details in person. He could see that she was distraught, so he let her approach the matter in any way that would soothe her.

"I don't want to wed him," she suddenly burst out.

Daeron didn't say a thing and to her surprise, it was worse than if he had told her that she was being a stupid, selfish child.

"I want to wed Daemon," she went on. "I love him," she added. "And he loves me."

Here. She had said it. She stared down at the goblet, feeling the heat from the fireplace turning into sweat on her back. She waited for Daeron to say that Daemon was already wed, that he had three children with Rohanne of Tyrosh already, that Daenerys was just a silly girl who didn't truly love Daemon and he didn't love her either, that he simply desired her like many other men did. She waited eagerly, so she could defend herself, be the brave champion of her love and make him change his mind. Daeron loved her, she knew that. Surely he would not deny her the happiness he had found with Mariah? He only needed to listen to her defense…

But he did not start the conversation.

"I mean, I know Daemon is wed and all," Daenerys finally spoke again. To her irritation, she felt a blush spreading all the way to the tip of her ears and even the back of her neck. "But the Targaryens had taken multiple wives in the past. She will be comfortably settled and she'll stay his wife in name alone, so she won't be his wife at all."

Her voice faded when she realized how unconvincing she sounded. Later, she would realize that it could not have gone in any other way – of course she could not convince him when she could not even convince herself fully. For now, she leapt to another line of defense.

"I know how important gaining Dorne to our peace is. But there must be another way, surely? You don't want me to be unhappy to the end of my life, do you? And that's what will happen if you force me into a marriage not of my choosing."

Daeron was still silent and in this silence, she could hear his answer. There hadn't been another road to peace but wedding Daeron to a Dornish princess that he had never seen and he had done his duty. For the first time, Daenerys wondered whether he and Mariah had been as terrified of the prospect of their marriage as she was now. She would find no mercy here. He expected of her the understanding of a woman and he would not indulge her arguments the way he would have done a child's. To him, duty trumped anything else and she was old enough to be mindful of hers.

"Did Daemon send you here?" Daeron finally asked. There was no anger in his voice. He might have been discussing the rusty poles of the bottom of the dry moat around the Red Keep. He had yet to drink from his goblet and now Daenerys realized that he hadn't drunk at all while he had been having the discussion that she had interrupted.

Fury grasped her. How dared he imply that Daemon had sent her here so she would take the heat? They had discussed the matter and she had offered to come here herself. Daemon was ready to fight for her. He was. He would fight the enemy who was sitting the Iron Throne, and wed her, and they would love each other till the end of their lives. And even if it cost the Iron Throne the chance to join Dorne to the other six kingdoms, she would never feel guilty.

"Daeron who nobles and smallfolk alike glorify as the Good!" she mocked. "I'll never forget what you did to me. And I won't wed the Dornishman, mark my word!"

She turned and left in a blaze of rage, slamming the door so hard that she hears a candlestick toppling at the other side. The Kingsguard at the door didn't say a thing but the disappointment in his eyes pierced her heart like a Dornish arrow. She had known the man her entire life and she had never seen this expression addressed at her before.

No, she would not melt. She would not sacrifice her love for duty. They would have to drag her to the statues of the Father and Mother by force…

The thought that she still had this option soothed her in the long nights she spent awake, knowing that no matter what, she wouldn't go against Daeron's behest. Even if Maron Martell turned out to be the most hideous of men. Even if her heart would break one piece at a time every day. Because without Daemon, the famed sun of Dorne could bring no warmth to her.