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A Dragon Named Black
Daenerys
The voice came from behind a dry rosebush, clear and laughing, "I said no! There are no roses here, just thorns. You don't want to scratch yourself, do you?"
The second voice was considerably younger. In fact, so young that it was unable to form coherent words but Daemon could make out the general sentiment just fine. The babe wanted to touch the bush, scratches be damned.
"No, no," the first voice insisted. "We're going away. Don't cry. Aw! Don't bite at me either! Listen, we'll go to your lady mother now and if she agrees, you can scratch yourself to your heart's content. Deal?"
Next to him, Daenerys shook with laughter; all of a sudden, he realized who the child must be. In fact, he should have realized as soon as he heard the girl's voice. It had the distinct drawl all of Daenerys' attendants now had – even those who were not born in Dorne!
Moments ago, Daenerys had been talking to him with ease and clear joy despite looking sick and weary; now, she barely gave him a look as she muttered, "You see I am in demand, Ser Daemon. I hope you'll excuse me." And without waiting for him to excuse her, she circled around the bush where an enthusiastic squeal of joy greeted her.
Despite knowing better, Daemon peeked around the bush. His curiosity was too strong, albeit painful. Daenerys had just taken her son in her arms, his head on her shoulder; with some indignation, Daemon realized that the little boy did not resemble her at all. He was the spitting image of Baelor and the Queen – and his father. Daemon had seen the man when, almost two years ago, he had arrived here to take Daenerys away. He had not been introduced to him, of course – the Prince of Dorne was too high and mighty to lose his time meeting bastards. At least bastards who weren't his own. Everyone knew that one of the squires accompanying Daenerys for this visit was a son he had fathered on his lifelong mistress – paramour, as they called it. Not that he had kept her after his wedding. The woman had been married off to some lord who didn't mind taking his liege lord's leftovers. It disgusted Daemon to see how Daenerys, who had always felt so uncomfortable around Rohanne and had been clearly disturbed by the idea of being a second wife – still legal! - smiled at her husband's bastard and kept him in her favour. Why, rumour had it that she had even sent his mother gifts on the occasion of the birth of her first trueborn child – if it was trueborn at all! For all Dornish reputed respect for women, Maron Martell had turned Daenerys into a submissive wife. What would be next, force her to receive his onetime – was she really onetime? – mistress into the palace he had supposedly build for her? For the first time, Daemon realized how his uncle must have felt, why he had gone so far as to go rebel against the King's explicit command and enter that tourney just for the Queen's sake. There were some things that were not to be tolerated. Of course, Daemon could hardly teach the damned Dornishman how to treat Daenerys since Maron had sent her here alone, his bastard excluded. Had he grown tired of her so easily? If Daemon was wed to her, he would have accompany her everywhere. He couldn't have suffered being apart from her for months in a row.
Now, Daenerys kissed the dark head buried against her neck and took a small hand to her face – to suck a finger, Daemon thought. "What?" she asked. "You wanted to check what scratching yourself feels like? Has he given you any trouble, Dyanna?"
The girl who had been walking the little Prince Mors Martell hitched a shoulder. "He becomes confused when we come in this part of the garden. I think he knows it's a garden but it isn't his and he doesn't understand."
Daenerys nodded, turning to her left to lift the babe against the tree nearby. She had forgotten that Daemon might be nearby, her only thought was of her son. Mors gurgled and reached for the nearest branch. Dyanna laughed and took his hand to guide it towards the leaves. Daemon held his breath. She was very young indeed but now, with the sun illuminating her for the very first time, he was struck by her beauty. Her eyes shone like bright stars in the night, her skin very white and she had the most delicately shaped face he had ever seen. The lines of her cheekbones overshadowed even Daenerys' and the lustre of her black hair could put Rohanne to shame – and Rohanne's hair was one of the things he liked best about his wife. Maybe one day, he thought angrily. This Dyanna wouldn't be this young forever, Dornish women were lewd, and Daenerys probably wouldn't even mind, given her attitude to her husband's whore.
"I miss the Water Gardens," Daenerys said.
Dyanna nodded. "So do I, Princess," she said. "They've become… home."
"Home." Daenerys' voice was thoughtful and full of wonder. "Yes. Well, we'll see them sooner than expected. We'll leave in a week or two. I would not postpone anymore because…"
She leaned over and said something so soft that Daemon didn't hear it; but the girl's smile when she answered confirmed the dark foreboding that shot through him. And then, her voice. "Perhaps this time, it'll be a girl, my lady. Or would you prefer a second son?"
Daemon's blood went cold.
"I don't know," Daenerys laughed. "But I'll tell you it's a great relief that it doesn't matter to Dorne. Now, all I have to worry about is keeping both of us healthy and safe. Who knows, perhaps this time it'll be a Targaryen son to match the Martell one."
"And if it's an olive-skinned daughter, dark of hair and eye, my lady?" Dyanna teased.
"Then, she'll look like her father and I'll be happy," Daenerys replied simply.
Slowly, Daemon let go off the hilt of the sword he hadn't realized he had been clasping. And he wondered who he had meant to strike with it.
