Without Words

Winter was blowing hard towards Dragonstone, raising waves as tall as a huge man and turning the wind into a mournful roar of a sorrowed giant that would not anyone sleep at night. The sun barely made any attempts to relieve the grayness that was the sky, the sea, the very world. It swallowed everything, save for the black dragon castle and the darkness inhabiting the soul of the princess inside as she prayed, secretly but no less fervently, with a black desire in her soul and without words.

Die. Die. Why won't you die already?

But the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms still lived, if his condition could be called life at all. Mariah Martell, a sun princess and a queen-in-waiting was almost reconciled that she would wait for a very long time indeed. Her goodfather would keep existing just to keep destroying the realm and tormenting Daeron and her further…

If she did not pray at the altar of the Stranger openly, it was because someone always saw and there were always those eager to catch the Dornishwoman in any wrongdoing. And then, there were the ones paid to catch her.

If she did not summon any witch with knowledge of dark mirrors and dark spells cast in moonless nights, it was because she knew that there would be no use – Aegon's spite would beat this in a moment.

When the dark raven came, she actually exclaimed, "Thanks the Seven!" and squeezed Maekar hard.

"The King is dead, Maekar! At last! It happened! You won't have to bend to his whims, never, ever again! You won't be tutored by incompetents. We won't be subjected to his whims anymore and no one else will be, ever!"

Maekar cast a quick look at his nursemaid who was folding some clothes nearby, as if he wanted to check if his mother was telling the truth. A cold hand touched Mariah's heart as she once again realized that her son no longer trusted her. But now, she would be able to put everything in place. And even this slight prick of resentment melted away when Maekar asked as eagerly as she never saw him do these days, "Mother, am I going to live with you from now on? And the gates of the Red Keep won't be closed to keep me in?"

"No," Mariah vowed. "Never. I know you have heard what your father and I talk about in the evening, about the changes we're going to make, right? We'll do it soon."

But it turned out that Aegon himself had made some last changes waiting for them… In her spontaneous joy, Mariah had not really heard the part of the missive that mentioned him acknowledging all his bastards.

"As if giving Daemon the sword was not bad enough…" she spat late this night even as she rubbed Daeron's aching back. "Placing you in the position of what's going to be seen as basically taking things out of children's hands was a vile thing, worthy of him, indeed!"

"Worthy of him indeed," Daeron agreed but unlike every other time, he did not relax under her experienced hands and worry shot through her.

"What?" she asked and her voice turned sharp. "What is it?"

"I won't take anything from Daemon," Daeron finally replied. "Not Blackfyre. Not any of the incomes the late King gave him."

This was so shocking that Mariah squeezed the skin she was holding until she saw red blotches around her fingers and only then realized that she was hurting him.

"What?" she asked and let go. "What did you say?"

"I can't," Daeron said. "I promised that I'd treat him honourably and won't deprive him of any of the things that he had been given before my ascension."

Mariah drew a breath so deep that the light of the candles at the other side of their bed flickered. "What?" she asked again. "Who did you make such promise? It cannot possibly be Aegon!"

Daeron shook his head as he lay face-down. "Daena," he replied and went on before she could ask further questions. "It happened in the day he was knighted. She called for me. She was desperate, Mariah. She wanted to make sure that he'd be safe…"

Mariah recoiled and folded her arms because if she kept touching him, she'd scratch him like a feral cat. "And of course, you had to soothe her fears," she said scathingly. "Because you were such good friends. And because, of course, the thought that I might want my sons to be safe never crossed your mind."

He turned his head to look at her. In the candlelight, his eye looked almost black and full of pain. Today had been a very bad day for him, healthwise, but right now, Mariah could not summon even the tiniest desire to relieve his ache.

"Don't be like this, Mariah," he said tiredly. "What danger can Daemon ever be to our boys? All he has is what I'm going to decide to leave to him – and everyone's going to know this."

She shook her head numbly. It wasn't this simple. Daeron might not see it now, but Mariah was the one coming from a land that treated bastards better than almost any other region in Westeros and she could see where this would lead to: if Daeron would let Daemon keep what Aegon had given him, he would have to let the other bastards keep their own possessions and incomes as well. The idea of the Bracken woman's son getting anything made her bristle with anger but also misgivings. That so called lady had been so close to getting the throne once – only Naerys' tenacity in the face of all odds had saved them! Mariah did not mind young Brynden this much and perhaps this was a flaw in her, her onetime fondness of his mother. If those three aligned? She knew of such things happening throughout Dornish history and they had never ended well. Still, it was Daemon that she feared most. Many already compared him to the Young Dragon and others, to her own, Dornish looking Baelor. He had to be sent somewhere at the far end of the realm and live and die there, forgotten by everyone… but Daeron would never let this happen. She would try to convince him, of course, but she would fail. He did not have the same feeling of danger. He could not understand like she did, like Baelor perhaps did to acutely feel what it was like to be disliked and distrusted because of things out of one's control, like origin or tones of skin. Two things that worked to Daemon's advantage. Two more things, in addition to martial spirit so unlike Aerys' bookishness, and superior health, vastly different from Rhaegel's spells… No matter what, he does not have the claim, Mariah thought fiercely. My sons have the claim!

Of course, the boy was not likely to create any troubles but… one never knew. Not when they were a princess watching her every step for over fifteen years. Not when they were a mother who had to preserve for her sons and their sons what was rightfully theirs.

Daeron only knew compassion and his word.

Horror wrapped around her like a wet cloak that froze her hands and feet to ice.

The End