Chapter Text
You despise violence and accordingly the celebration of it.
Tourneys are great entertainment to the masses, to you it is an ungraceful demonstration of men’s brutality because most of them have no mercy for each other.
Especially not the Targaryen prince.
Unlike his brother prince Daemon has all the marks of a true dragon: impulsive, unpredictable, thirsty for blood. You first saw him in a fight and it continued on like this for moons on end.
You feel like he looks at you. It is ridiculous, truly, and yet his gaze often wanders the crowd and you’d swear up and down it lingers once he found you.
Never long, just a few seconds before he begins his battles and focuses all his energy on obliterating the fool they put in front of him.
He first crowned you his queen of love and beauty a couple weeks after your first tourney. A whisper had gone through the crowd when the crown of blue roses dropped into your shaking hands. You’d never even mustered up a word of thanks, just stared at his bloodied figure.
He looked like a true mad man then, white hair almost completely red, face smeared too and yet his violet eyes burned into yours with purpose. Most of that blood wasn’t his you knew and it made it all worse. How can he offer you a token of affection covered in another man’s blood?
And do it so calmly.
Still you accepted the honor. Your mother had nudged you enough times from beside you until you mustered up a small smile.
And he returned it.
It was more of a grin, with so much mischief in his eyes it unsettled you all over again but by then he was already turning away again, leaving slowly, savoring the continued applause of the crowd.
Today you’re back once again. There was no getting out of it, not even claiming to be sick. It is the crown prince’s birthday and there are so many eyes directed at you.
The last tourneys incident has made its rounds it seemed. By now the whole realm must know your name and is wondering what you’ve done to warrant the attention of a dragon. You‘d like to know that too but it remains a mystery to all.
Your eyes keep wandering to the seats of the royal family, even after the tourney begins. Prince Viserys appears perfectly normal, sitting beside his betrothed, the Lady Emma Arryn. And his younger brother is nowhere to be seen. Of course he wouldn’t miss out on a chance to fight,
You can tell when he arrives just by the way the crowd reacts. Awes, whispers of excitement, it runs through the people like a wave and you find yourself craning your neck to see him too.
His family‘s colors are unmistakable, as is his hair. He looks well put together, not like you remember him, not yet.
The announcement for the next fight goes over your head, you don‘t pay much attention to your surroundings anymore. You‘re watching Prince Daemon‘s every move with keen eyes and he realises. It‘s only a glance your way, so quick most don‘t catch it, you are sure it happened and your heart skips a beat.
He remembers.
There is no way out of it now, is there? The dragon gets what he wants. You are a woman doomed, you know it when you watch the fight. For the first time you cannot will yourself to look away. You see it all, every hit, every drop of blood that is shed and it is a lot.
The prince fights like there was no tomorrow, never defending himself, he‘s always on the offense and pushing his opponent into a corner. He fights with rage and raw aggression. And no mercy.
He fights to kill and it scares you. Still, you do not dare look away. You need to see what happens, who wins, if someone dies. You can’t close your eyes like you do so often.
Daemon takes a few close hits, he doesn’t waste his energy on defenses, his armor takes the attacks just fine, he pushes forward and forward. Until he strikes his opponents helmet so hard it comes flying off and the man falls on his back.
He could stop now. He should stop now. But you and everyone else in the audience watch on with horror as he raises his sword again and swings it down with full force. You have to assume the man’s head comes off clean, it makes a dulled thud while your eyes clench shut.
The applause is held back and hesitant, but it is there. The prince just won after all. He wins all his other fights too and although he does not take another life, he comes very close most of the times. The crowd celebrates his wins accordingly, you sit with an uneasy feeling in your stomach.
When the tourney is over the prince is the winner. No big surprise, not when this is a celebration honoring his brother and everyone who stood against him is now in need of a maester.
It’s time. He didn’t clean up after his last fight, he wears the blood like a sign of his victory. It fits, in a twisted, beautiful way it suits his looks, his eyes seem brighter framed by all the red…
The situation is awfully familiar. He is asked to choose a lady as his queen of love and beauty, present her with a token for her affection and he looks around the crowd, flowers in hand.
Some are already watching you, those that cared to remember your name and face, and you shift in your seat. You want to be anywhere else. Anywhere.
Instead you are trapped in place while the prince makes his way over, he knows what he wants. Who.
He finds you with his gaze and smiles. You freeze. Part of you yells to run and hide, the other says that’s what prey does and you want to be anything but that. You have to appear stronger than you are.
He holds the flowers out for you to take. His eyes are fixed on yours, not on your hands as they reach out to receive the crown. You can’t look away either. Your fingers close around the roses and you feel the petals give in under your grip.
A drop of another man’s blood runs down his cheek like a tear, but he looks as content as you have ever seen him. He has you, he sees it in the way you hold his flowers to your chest and keep looking at him.
This is the only way he has been taught to show devotion, through his sword, and he is devoted to you. This fascination can’t be explained, he doesn’t try to, he wants you to see his worst side and accept it. It’s that simple at its core.
He can give you blood, he’d wage war for you and fight it on his own. Until you’re his.
He smiles before he leaves.
It’s the last time you see him until he asks your father for your hand in marriage.