Smut warning: Masterbat!on.
It seemed a betrayal to imagine her. It was an unfair thing to lust for.
He grabbed the oil jug from atop his fire place, taking it to his night stand, coating his fingers as he sat down, trying to conjure up any other image.
The blood orange smell had lingered on him, adding to the difficulty of the situation. The tallow oil smelled like her hair. Perhaps he should ask a maid, at least one would be willing. The thought back to their lingering touches and wanting stares during his bath, pretty girls, older than his companion, their pale hands gliding over him with a wet cloth, how his hand slid down the girls back, how the smell could take him back if he gave in.
He stopped himself, mindlessly grabbing his neglected cock with the oiled hand, trying his best ignore his thoughts. He slid his hand, in the same memorized way from his youth and tried his best to be quick.
He thought about his wife, the salt air the first time he had her, a time where it was need and not want, the feeling of her thigh against his hand, her mouth on his. When she was younger, all those years ago in the brothel.
His hand picked up speed, he felt himself building to the needed climax. His head arched back, lost in older memory. He stroked his tip, grunting with his dependence on the budding release.
The stench of stale ale in the air, the mindless interlocked bodies her eyes pulled to. Nettles eyes would pull like that to any new thing shown to her, the ale was polluted with the stale wine.
If he stopped now he wouldn’t finish, he was a man lost to his urges. His mind flashed to her, half dressed, undressed, licking her lips, laughing and looking up at him, mouth ajar for what ever reason. It felt wrong to imagine, he tried to think to anything else but a memory of her would cloud his mind and judgement for what was right. All he knew was what he needed to do. He was almost there.
He grunted with each stroke, on the brink of his anticipation paying off. He heard the knock at the door and couldn’t answer. He leaned into himself, tugging away mindlessly. The oranges danced with his building sweat. A coating covered him as he drew near than he had been in months, her round breast, revealed itself from her raven coils, he could taste his peak.
He could hear her calling his name, through their door, he didn’t know if he was half conjuring it.
His peak came with the swing of their door, a curious call of his name and a strained grunt at her intrusion.
Ever quick, she recognized his state, wide eyed to be sure with a quick apology and pulling the door back shut, he was past the point where he could stop himself. He dropped his cock as it spurted over the floor, the immediate guilt and relief flooding him together.
He placed his hands at either side of him, nearly delirious with the relief of his expectation, he steadied himself and recognized where he was, what he had done to get there, almost angered by the new clarity.
He could apologize to her to her enough to justify it, he had to apologize to her now for what happened. The door wasn’t locked on his insistence to his side, he should’ve spoken to send her away. He felt no control over it all, a deep desire settled in his soul over it.
He stood up hazily and got dressed, wiping the sweat off his skin and rinsing away all the musk that had developed in its arrival. He knocked the door of and searched her room to find it empty and unmade. He closed the door and made his way to breakfast through his room, he had no desire to see the state he left his in.
He felt hollow as he made his way to the dinning area, unwilling to face the myriad of emotions he could anticipate from her, he doubted he would look less that guilty at her, her face changing into something more desired now.
He walked in on her, in deep conversation with Maester Norren and Lord Mooton, she’s the first to recognize him in the room.
She stands as he would expect, a glimpse of shyness lingered in her expression, avoiding his eyes entirely, preserving her serious expression as the others join her greeting. He made his way at her side. They all sat together, going into a less intense version of the previous conversation , she refused to meet his eyes.
“You should ask him now that he’s here. Perhaps you’ll listen to him.”
She was never impolite, if she was angry her tone would say but she simply sounded flustered, with the same restrained anger she met him with more often than not.
“What is your request my Lord?” He stared at the fat country Lord, seemingly caught up in the throws of the previous conversation. He looked towards the girl, who focused intently on the porridge in front of her, idling herself by playing with it, breathing deeply to calm herself.
He wondered if she had cared about what she saw, if his worry would even matter after he heard what the Lord said, it didn’t seem to impact her day as much as he had.
“I’m simply curious about the possibility of you both splitting up, to find Vhagar and cover the Riverlands with your protection.”
He could feel his anger rise with the closing of the statement, seeing why there was need for the argument in the first place.
Did he think they sat on dragon back each day to waste time?
That they simply enjoyed the others reactions to the piles of bodies they’d stack every other week?
He felt Nettles heat leave her as he restated what seemed to be the same conversation to him. She was as anxious as she was angry.
The girl couldn’t sleep for so long, at least having someone near her, making sure she would was a comfort. He doubted whether she would eat alone or take care of her self without his insistence. She drank herself to peace just the last night.
His grand plan never made her a causality, he recalled. She’d always go back to Rhaenyra’s side as he went after Vhagar. Even as a suggestion the girl was in danger by herself against Vhagar. No one dragon could stand alone against her.
He gripped the knife in his hand tightly, trying his best to rationalize his anger before he spoke. Did he think the girl was here in jest for company alone?
He felt a warm thing grab his thigh, shifting his demeanor to confusion , he looked down then up at her, a weary expression trying to reassure him, in some small attempt to quell a dragon’s tendency. He could feel himself calm, wondering if she used the same method on Sheepstealer before.
He turned back to the scared Lord, resting the knife down before he responded.
“It would be a useless feat, no dragon alone would stand against Vhagar, even I need someone at my side to make sure I return. Her grace is very adamant on that front.”
She moved her hand back to herself and he felt the warmth leave him, almost hostile in its departure. Her food busied her as the conversation continued, over breakfast, entailing small notes about the following steps towards a quicker end to his nephew.
He checked on her throughout the conversation, sometimes justifying it by making sure she took note of certain places, other times to ensure her presence, just to gage her reaction. By the time they were done he was sure he had paid her more attention, against his better judgment.
“We will leave you both to discuss further, Your Grace.” The Maester stated before departing behind his Lord, it couldn’t have been after nine when he and Netty were finally left alone.
She was wearing a Targaryen red dress, truly made for court, she found a way to make it look like an appropriate dress for the occasion, it dipped low like a King’s Landing style he noted before turning away with he thought, entirely.
“Did you finish?” The question sounded common place out of her mouth , for a moment he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs.
His expression caused her to muffle a laugh, and he found, hearing the air leave her as well. For a moment, they waited for their composure to wash over them before the conversation flowed.
“I seem to have taken to making a fool of myself with you. I owe you my apology.” In a better light, he’d see it as a just remark to make, but even the knowledge that she had helped him to finish seemed wrong. The only comfort was that she didn’t know.
“ I think it is a new talent. You did avoid the notice entirely.” She said, stifling a laugh. He recalled the morning before, and he looked for the cut to explain the blood from a young lady. He seemed to lose his sense around her. He remembered how her voice sounded half fantastical at that time, the expanding of her in his thoughts.
“I was caught off guard, to be clear. Then the last conversation made me see red, I could imagine how you felt.”
The fire her hand stoked had yet to disappear, being around her seemed secretive and new. Her scent seemed alluring, her easy smile entranced him, so surely, he thought, he could breathe her like life itself.
“It’s done now, you have the day to recover.”
It was cruel, he thought, to desire her when he’d barely earned her trust. He only just started to see glimmers of the light Jace had written about. Had it not been for the prolonged and hollow description of her appearance, he would’ve thought the boy had half fallen for her. Now, he understood why the words felt the way they did, appearance or otherwise.
“You and Jace were close?”
He regretted it the moment he asked. He saw the way she transformed at the mention of his name, seeing her reaction to it, like someone had stabbed her through the heart. She dropped the spoon for her food and rationalized the question. He wished he could move from it all together.
“He looked out for me, more than he did for the others.” Her voice lacked any emotion, like she was keeping a secret about them from him. Had he known either of them else, he would’ve thought he stumbled onto an affair.
“That was nice of him. He wrote fondly about you.” He held the goblet of watered wine to his lips as she gazed off to the side. He wanted to go back to the people they were before.
“He liked to care. One of the better traits he had. He’d get angry like you. That was a worse one.” He heard the hint of a smile, but her words hit him hard now. Jace was argumentative, never really taking to him like a father, more so a ward, more so an uncle, he supposed.
They had a shared grief over him over Viserys, and even as she seemed to close herself off from the emotion it caused, she cared enough to allow for the understanding. He knew he had taken to all the children in her own strange way, but even now, it seemed the first time he shared his grief rather than felt it alone. It had torn at Rhaenyra, he recalled, a mention of what they had lost would take her away from court, a sentiment he couldn’t share with her.
“I should go check on the dragons, I’m sure they’ll be glad for the break.” She stood up, distant and monotone, excusing herself without his response, walking away with the warmth. She left him cold and almost desperate.
He’d heard from the shepherds that she’d whistle to call Caraxes. In another light, it seemed as though they were singing through the whistling. She wouldn’t miss a day without feeding her dragon, flying or not, dragons bend easier when fed.
Perhaps they understood each other better than he could imagine, they’d understand being hungry, he supposed, from her eating habits, it was a way to show love, to bond with such a new relationship. The first rider of an eighty year old dragon was a big feat for such a small girl.
The rest of their day was spent apart until dinner. She had gone to Jonquil’s pool, a famously dangerous place for Targaryens, stopping by to announce it and then disappearing altogether for the evening period.
He lost himself in the letters, distracting himself from what now seemed like his worst impulse, responding to Lords who wished for protections, Lords who needed aid and the Lords at court who seemed to worry about the Queen, succession and all the things he was less glad to be away from now.
He was mapping out the route for them to take in the following days, when he heard the mouse of her presence. He called out twice to no response before their door eased open, an unkempt head of hair meeting him before her eyes did, a glimmer of light meeting him after the daunting day.
He asked, looking at the blue evening dress coming into view, hugging her frame as she made her way to him. He preferred her in red.
“It was fine, no murder attempt.” The ease from before still had yet to take back her voice, a trend he hoped wouldn’t continue in his presence. One he hoped he’d gain
“I should’ve gone next week, with the full moon.” In passing, she’d mention something akin to a superstition she held. He didn’t think she prayed to the seven, judging from the Septa’s reaction to her she didn’t intend to but some small beliefs held in her.
“You pray to moon gods?” He asked passively, drawing out a trivial conversation , just to stay with her for a while, before they went back to the day to day.
“A little faith is always good. I suppose Targaryens would believe in themselves.” He looked up at her, comprehending the jab before returning to the map across his table.
“Then you should try it, unlike other Gods, your dragon will never disappoint you.” Unlike her Dragonstone bred peers, she never clung to the idea that she was a Targaryen. Unlike Addam and Alyn, she never claimed to be Laenor’s spawn or a Velayron.
She was simply a dragon rider, almost insulting the legacy of Targaryens with the refusal. It seemed more interesting than ill meaning, to him at least. What girl did not want to be a Targaryen?
“I wouldn’t prefer it, you’ve grown around men for too long, it makes the faith less believable.”
He smiled down at his map, trying his best to avoid her quick remark towards his suggestion. He decided to deflect from it all together.
“You should sleep better tonight, or you can have the maester make you a sleeping drought.”
He could feel his heart rise at the mention. She still hadn’t told him about her lack of sleep. Her history at Maidenpool with Milk of The Poppy or the sleeping drought wasn’t more than a secret understanding he could never uncover. Thankfully, she seemed unconcerned with the suggestion.
“I slept a while last night, I’m sure it’ll be better tonight.”
He recalled the dark bags under her eyes, the redden gaze that met his, the dirt from the day caked on her until this morning. He wondered if she would lie to him so carelessly, he glanced at her to see a look of understanding on her face. Perhaps she had forgotten, like with the Poppy milk.
“You didn’t look well rested?” He quirked an eyebrow to her, wanting to absolve her of the misunderstanding.
“I had a bad dream. I got up and couldn’t go back to sleep, hence the wine and tired look.” She fumbled with her hands, avoiding his look with the newly revealed information.
“The wine isn’t acceptable, I’d prefer the drought.” He sounded like his father the first time he visited Dragonstone after his wedding to his first Lady wife.
“ It wasn’t to sleep, I just..” She stopped herself, drawing his full attention to her now, this was a new conversation they had gone too.
“I just wanted to get rid of the thought of the dream, to lose some control over hearing the same thing repeatedly.”
She sounded like him when he justified his drinking to his grandmother after the wedding. He should wait, he knew he shouldn’t push to far with her, he’d get less understanding if she closed off entirely. The thought that she could be opening up was too tempting to ignore through, the hope she’d put the trust in him was pulling him like a tide to follow the conversation.
He sat down looking up at her, she seemed delicate with the candlelight around her. She was water in his hands, he was scared to let go of her, for the first time they were as close has they had been because of her.
“ Nothing truly, I’m just a stupid girl who can’t quiet the stupid questions in her mind.”
Corlys had guessed that she was no older than ten and six, according to his ship mistress, she was a child on Driftmark with the others. He still had never heard her call herself a girl, now, she never seemed to capture the word well. He guessed she’d been an adult for longer that she was a child on the streets Addam claimed she resided on.
“What could be so bad?” It was half a plea to her, half a question for himself, what had plagued her thoughts so bad she’d need to escape her mind.
“I’ve been like the people we aid longer than I’ve been a dragon rider.” His shock from her answering the question couldn’t be concealed but she barely looked at him as she confessed her plight, he could only listen.
“They drop like flies, while I’m hunting the largest dragon alive, it doesn’t seem likely that I survive it.”
Her confession felt like someone had slapped him, she was almost mouse like now, quite in the space she held, dimming her own light, allowing the darkness to shine.
“I promised you..” He began forming some response, some sense of understanding in what she said, a comfort he’d given himself at the thought of her in danger, in that situation.
“ Yesterday, men clung to me begging for their lives to end, fathers and sons alike. Bigger and stronger than I’ve ever been. Terrified and dying because of the only thing that makes them not like me.”
Her voice was distorted with the anger and sadness that possessed her, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so open with him.
He’d give her whatever he could. He was never more sure that she’d never fight Vhagar.
“It was too much , all at once but I’m fine now.” He hadn’t hidden his demeanor, the divisive anger that guided his action. He had just wed at her age, she had a lifetime ahead of her, like Jace and Luke, like Viserys. She had children, chaos and adventures , written in her spirit.
It seemed a cruelty for her to doubt it.
“I meant my promise to you, Netty.”
He stared at her, catching her fallen gaze before it met his, staring past her, if she could trust him, even for a moment now, all would be well worth it.
“You’ll have a lifetime for yourself, I swear on Caraxes.”
She chuckled at the implication, seeing it as no more than a false comfort to pull her out of her doubt. She probably had a lifetime of promises from men just like him. He had never meant anything more though, he could feel the promise seal into his very bones.
“It is all well now, Daemon. No need to drag Caraxes into nightmares.” She was joking, he felt as though he’d gotten too serious now. She’d retract the new position she held him in if he pushed anymore, he’d settle for her contentment now. His plan seemed to settle more together than ever now.
“Very well.” He stated as she sat down next to him. He informed her about their mission to Pink Maiden, then to track where he might go from there to try to ambush him. She was quiet for the rest of the conversation.
They ate in his room that night, a simple meal of Acorn soup , with small conversation about packing between them. He felt almost mad looking for a difference in her demeanor with him, waiting to see if the confession had changed anything between them, with a resounding no by the end. She was content with it between them and moving along as though it hadn’t existed at all. He felt trapped in a desert with no water around him as they finished.
She wished him a good night and closed the door behind her shortly after the meal. He was a deranged man he thought. The thoughts left him half mad, devouring him until he had to put it away.
Tomorrow would be a new day for him hopefully.
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