Chapter One: Swords And Stars
A/N: Hi, welcome to "Maddie starts a new project as she neglects her others". Demelza's story will span the length of House of the Dragon and will be based more on show events and timelines. Her ultimate love interest is undecided, however she may have a few flirtations before that ;)
The thick plumes of scented smoke wafted through the sept, making Demelza Dayne wrinkle her nose as she knelt in prayer to the gods.
It was mere weeks until Queen Aemma would give birth, and Demelza's dread coiled in the pit of her stomach like a slumbering serpent. Before she had come to King's Landing as a child, childbirth had seemed easy to Demelza. Her mother had successfully borne five children, of which Demelza was the youngest. Demelza's eldest sister, Corrina, had welcomed a healthy son with her husband, Lord Penrose.
But in King's Landing, Queen Aemma's attempts to give King Viserys a son had resulted only in misery, and Demelza could only hope that this time, the Queen's efforts were not futile. Viserys and Aemma's daughter Rhaenyra also prayed to the Seven, her words whispered too fast for Demelza to catch any meaning of them. On Princess Rhaenyra's other side, Alicent Hightower was silent, her head bowed humbly.
Her own prayers complete and a rush of thoughts on her mind, Demelza cracked open an eye to see that Valko Sand had not moved from his post by one of the pillars. She heaved a sigh, her guard's presence as often a thorn in her side as it was a comfort. Gathering her plum-coloured skirts in hand, Demelza pushed herself to her feet, almost toppling a candle in the process.
"Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent are not done praying." Valko's tone was even and his voice acceptably quiet as he jerked his chin to where Demelza's best friends remained in prayer. A bastard-born knight from western Dorne in his early thirties, Valko had accompanied Demelza and her household to King's Landing without question seven years earlier.
"I am done praying." Demelza retorted, lowering her voice when one of the septons narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I thought we could spar in the courtyard. I'm finally starting to get good."
"You know Septa Gwenefer doesn't like it," Valko reminded her, a fact that Demelza consistently hoped would be forgotten, but which the head of her guard always remembered.
In Dorne, it was common for women to fight alongside men. Perhaps once, in the days of Aegon the Conqueror, that had been the case for the rest of the realm as well. From an independent kingdom, Demelza technically owed no allegiance to the crown, though it was considered politically smart that she remained a ward in King's Landing. At fifteen, Demelza was perceptive enough to know it was an unwrapped gift, the prospect of bringing Dorne into the fold through one of its most prominent families.
"Septa Gwenefer doesn't like much," Demelza grumbled under her breath, pleased to see the hint of a smile crack through Valko's typically neutral countenance.
"That's because you agitate her at every turn." Rhaenyra, having finally emerged from prayer, crossed over to Demelza and Valko with a grin on her lips. Alicent followed quietly, picking at her nails until Demelza slapped the back of her hand.
"Don't do that."
"You should freshen up before lunch." Valko's dark eyes fixed on his charge. "Septa Gwenefer hates more than anything when you are tardy."
"I am going to fly on Syrax," Rhaenyra declared, turning her gaze upon Alicent, "Do you want to come with me?"
A pang of envy seared through Demelza, though she knew Rhaenyra's lack of invitation came after Valko spoke of her taking lunch. Alicent did not wish to fly on dragonback, though Demelza was enthralled by the opportunity, when Syrax was big enough to carry two. The auburn-haired girl nodded, a slight smile spreading across her lips.
"I suppose I will see you both later," Demelza said, the words half a statement and half a question. At Rhaenyra's nod, her heart lightened and she followed Valko from the sept with a spring in her step, sleek black hair bouncing around her shoulders. She would do Septa Gwenefer's bidding and change, if only because it meant the septa would be more accepting of Demelza seeing her best friends later on.
"Your mother has written me." Valko's boots clicked against the stone as he trailed Demelza back to the rooms of the Red Keep assigned to the Dayne household. "You are fifteen now, Lady Demelza. Between myself and Septa Gwenefer, we are to be keeping an eye out for potential husbands."
"Must we discuss such tedious matters now?" Demelza heaved a sigh, irritation prickling at her skin beneath the silk of her dress. She had the luxury of being her parents' youngest child, which meant that marriage was, though inevitable, not as pressing as it had been for her sister Corrina. By the time Corrina had been Demelza's age, she had already been wed.
"I don't see a better time to discuss it." Valko pushed open the doors to their rooms, and Demelza faltered in her footsteps when a familiar face turned to look at her from the seat in front of the fireplace.
"Hello, sister." Corrina Penrose eased herself up with the grace expected of her station, bestowing a warm smile upon Demelza. Twelve years Demelza's senior, Corrina's beauty was renowned through Dorne and likely most of Westeros as well. Demelza liked to think they looked alike, with porcelain skin and almond-shaped eyes framed by silky black hair, but Corinna possessed a poise that Demelza lacked.
"Why didn't you tell me that Corrina was coming?" Demelza demanded of Valko, before flinging her arms around her sister, inhaling her comforting familiar scent of rose and sandalwood. When Corrina drew back, she examined Demelza.
"Look at you. Practically a woman grown."
"Did you come to fulfil Mother's ambition to find me a husband?" Demelza's tone soured. Her sister's visits to the capital were few and far between, and it embittered her to think Corrina's top priority was not spending time with her.
"Yes and no." Corrina's smile turned mischievous. "You really think my husband could stay away from the opportunity to participate in a tourney?"
Demelza laughed. Tristram Penrose, Corrina's husband, was a plain but likeable man. He was a kind husband to Corrina, and had always treated Demelza like she was a person instead of an annoying child. She hoped it meant that Corrina had also brought her sons and daughter along. The eldest would be close to nine years old now.
"Aren't you worried? About the Queen?"
Corrina's smile vanished, morphing into a frown. "Come now, Demelza. You mustn't speak of such things. The Queen has delivered children in the past, though the gods saw fit to take them from her before their time."
Demelza obediently lapsed into silence, though the concern gnawed at the pit of her stomach. Having a babe seemed to her much like tossing a coin. It could either go one way or the other. Corrina had been fortunate that her three children had been relatively easy births, though it certainly hadn't been the case for poor Queen Aemma.
Finding a husband was a chore to Demelza. Distasteful, but it must be done. She was fortunate to have Corrina by her side. Her oldest sibling was an excellent judge of character, as well as far more knowledgeable about the houses of Westeros than Demelza. Nonetheless, the prospect of marriage hung heavy over her head, a dark cloud threatening to unleash a storm.
King's Landing did not experience the same sweltering heat as Dorne, though the day of the tourney was warm, the sun beating down upon the stands as Demelza and Corrina took their seats in King Viserys' covered stand. By merit of Demelza's close friendship with Rhaenyra and keeping Dorne in good favour, they were sheltered from the elements instead of exposed to the harsh sunlight.
Corrina had helped Demelza dress for the occasion, purple and white ribbons braided intricately through her dark hair and a crown of flowers sat atop her head. Her dress today was lavender, laced tightly and exposing a little more cleavage than Demelza was comfortable with. Corrina had been relentless, insisting that prospective suitors might need a glance of bosom.
"What about one of the Baratheons?" Corrina leaned close, though her dark eyes scanned the stands no doubt in search of her children. Tristram would be in the lists by now, awaiting his turn at the tilt.
"What about someone closer to my age?" Demelza wrinkled her nose, hoping her disinterested tone might push Corrina from the topic.
Tourneys were always such violent events. For as many complaints as Demelza had heard about the 'uncivilised' Dornish, she had not seen her own people beat one another to death with quite as much pomp. She glanced across at Rhaenyra and Alicent, both fixated on what was happening. Alicent was biting at her nails again, while Rhaenyra appeared almost transfixed as one of the knights, Ser Criston Cole, managed to unhorse the King's brother, Daemon Targaryen.
"A shame the Dragon Prince is already married." Corrina threw Demelza a sly look. "He is a handsome man, if lacking some manners."
"You should not speak so flippantly of the royal family," Demelza responded, a furrow creasing her brow.
"Oh?" No amusement in Corrina's eyes this time, but something cool and detached. "Why is that?"
It was not an argument that Demelza wished to have as a public spectacle. Corrina shared their mother's general distaste for Westeros, and the constant push to have Dorne join the fold. Over her years in King's Landing, Demelza had learned a healthy respect for their allies, though Corrina may well think she had become one of them. Clenching her jaw, Demelza tilted her chin up and focused her attention on the bloodied sand below them.
"That must have been quite a surprise for your uncle." Demelza leaned close to Rhaenyra. It was always the same seating situation with the three of them: Rhaenyra in the middle, Alicent and Demelza either side of her. She was, after all, the Princess.
"Ser Criston Cole did well," Rhaenyra admitted, with a strange fondness in her tone that made Demelza arch an eyebrow and nudge her friend in the side.
"Do you fancy him?"
"Demelza!" Rhaenyra chided, though her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. "He is handsome, that is all."
Corrina gasped and leaned forward in her seat as Tristram appeared on horseback, and Demelza saw her sister's occupation with the joust as an opportunity to slip quietly from her seat and excuse herself from the King's stand. Though she had attended such events over the past few years, the crowds often left her with a sense of unease that she found hard to pinpoint.
Gathering her skirts, Demelza headed down to the stables, hoping perhaps she could bribe one of the stablehands into letting her pat one of the horses. When she walked in, she almost collided with a suit of armour, and she staggered backwards.
"Are you alright?" The suit of armour asked, before she realised that it actually belonged to someone. Ser Criston Cole, to be accurate, leaving her cheeks flaming with heat as she realised how she had embarrassed herself by stumbling about like a drunkard.
"Oh. Yes. I'm sorry."
"What are you doing down here?" There was curiosity in his tone, not accusation, and Demelza dared to look up into his deep brown eyes.
"I wanted to see the horses," she responded, which must sound ridiculous because it wasn't like she had never seen a horse before.
"You're Dornish, aren't you?" A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Lady Demelza Dayne. Friend of Princess Rhaenyra."
"Yes." Demelza bobbed her head in a frantic nod. "You're…you're Dornish too."
No one could ever accuse her of being too familiar with men, she admitted to herself. There were some ladies of the court who would flirt shamelessly, with such ease that it looked natural. It must be a practised skill though, for Demelza found herself fumbling over her words in front of a young man who was, correctly deduced by Rhaenyra, handsome.
"Would you like to see my horse then?" At her nod, Criston walked back into the stable and gestured to the horse he had ridden at the joust not long before. He raised a hand to gently stroke the horse's nose, coaxing a smile back to Demelza's lips. She didn't think he was all that much older than her, perhaps in his early twenties. Common-born though, if Ser Harrold Westerling's words held any merit.
Steeling herself, Demelza reached up to pat the horse, her fingers brushing against Criston's and making butterflies flood through her stomach at the contact. He studied her with a curious expression, and the smile tugged further across Demelza's lips into a dazzling grin as she drew her hand away.
"Sorry."
Sudden commotion outside, the clamour of the crowd, made Demelza and Criston exchange a similarly puzzled look. Marching over to peer out of the stables, Demelza could see several lords and ladies sobbing openly as they left the stands. She pushed herself into the path of one of the nearest stablehands, her dress and the ribbons in her hair clearly marking her rank and cutting over whatever rude remark had been on his lips.
"What has happened?"
"It's the Queen, little lady." The stablehand's eyes were round as coins. "She's dead."
