Daeron sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. The pale light of the lamp suffused over his nakedness, sculpted back outlined beneath entwisted locks of silver-gold hair. He was glorious. Beautiful. Amelia reached out a hand. So lightly, she traced a fingertip on his spine, and felt the heat radiating from his skin. A dragon. Daeron turned and his eyes met hers. Deep purple, so young, so sincere. Amelia sat on the bed, wrapped an arm around his body, and kissed his shoulder. And mine.
White silk curtains danced to a soft breeze. The night kept silent, sighs and moans undisclosed but to this world that was entirely theirs. A touch, so light yet so strong. A caress, so gentle yet so tender.
When? She whispered.
Daybreak.
We would not be marching until the moon turns.
We? Who's marching?
I've joined the archer's strong.
Goodness, Amelia.
I made it into the reserve.
No, you will not be marching even if the moon turns.
You cannot -
I can. You are speaking to your commander. Gods, what madness!
Do you suppose I can bear waiting while war wages around me? Your war, at that.
It does not imply that you should join in it.
My skills allowed me.
You're a fine archer, I know. But you're a woman.
You speak as if that's a pestilence.
It is. In war. Demons possess men in war. His lust becomes unquenchable. Lust for blood, glory, flesh. Amelia, you do not know what you've put yourself into.
I'll stay, then. Only if you will.
Enough. She saw his strong jaw clench, violet eyes blazing in barely suppressed anger. Fear checked her desperation, yet still she pushed on. She has to make him hear. Tonight was her last chance.
No. Daeron, please, do not fight. I know, you wish to leave a stamp in history. Folks shall sing of your great valor. King Daeron the Fearless, King Daeron the Young Dragon, the True Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. At the cost of what? It is too much.
Nonetheless, I shall pay the price.
Past Targaryen kings but for Aegon the Dragon ruled Westeros without conquering any kingdom. Daeron, stay. Sit upon that damn iron chair, and be the king that common folk will adore, the king that will raise Westeros to its peak.
With you by my side I shall be that king. But that will have to wait. More than a ruler, I am a Targaryen. I owe it to my blood to finish what they left undone. Dorne will bow down to me first.
Dorne will not bend the knee.
Then I shall cut it if need be.
Marriage.
What?
There is no need for war. Marriage. Marry a Dornish princess, and Dorne will be yours. Daeron, listen to me.
The battle plans have been laid out, banners raised. Those of true loyalty has flocked to our cause. Its past turning point.
Daeron, listen. Why spill blood when it can be just wine? Why slaughter men when it can be just boars? Marry a Dornish pri –
No. He kissed her then. So slow and tender. Amelia never felt the tear that escaped her eye until Daeron wiped it away. You're the only woman I'm going to marry.
Promise me, that you will come back, and marry me.
He only kissed her.