⸻ ( Daemon Targaryen )
She comes like rain, soft and gentle, upon his cheeks. The taste of summer snow and enduring love, like a declaration of war upon fate.
( house of the dragon ) • 2022
( editing in progress )
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THE scent of freshly baked goods enticed Lyra upon her awakening as she left her chambers that morn. Soft and warm, she discerned the aromas of sweet honey and berries upon a spread of golden crumbed beds. Her mouth watered as she felt her stomach respond to the summons.
It had already been a moon since she first arrived in King's Landing. Preparations for the wedding were still underway and her mother had insisted that Lyra left majority of the arrangements to herself and the servants. Invitations had already been sent out and there was no doubt that the guests would soon arrive within the next moon.
It was, after all, the wedding of the crown heir's youngest son. Lyra was still struck breathless at the thought. Third in line to the succession of the throne, that was who she was marrying. Not just any highborn, not just any Targaryen.
Even more daunting still was the idea that her children would propogate that line. They would be born dragons with flowing silver hair and eyes of crystallised amethyst. Their legacy would be the skies and the flames, not winter and frost. Lyra had always been proud of her heritage, of being a Stark. Only her brother and cousins would carry on the name.
A sudden thought flitted across her mind, dancing across an ephemeral stage that faded as soon as it began. "Maybe they would look like you. Maybe we'll have a pack of wolf pups instead."
Glowing candlelight flickered across a tender smile. Then it was all lost once again beneath a haze of oblivion. Something inside her stirred restlessly.
"Good morning, cousin." Brandon's greeting woke her from her reverie. She glanced to him, then to the basket of fresh bread on the table. "I heard that Prince Viserys sent these with his regards."
Her lips parted with surprise and she allowed the severed strings of her memory to float away once more. "That is very kind of him. I shall enjoy his hospitality."
She sat down and reached eagerly for a sweet bread. A light dusting of sugar snowed over her fingertips and palms as she ate. Brandon returned to his disorganised parchments and Lyra caught sight of unfamiliar nautical sketches amongst them.
"Are you planning to travel somewhere?" she asked. It looked like a map of the Narrow Sea and its many islands. Without sparing a glance, Brandon attempted to discreetly flip the map over to hide its contents. Lyra tutted, "It is too late, I have already seen it."
"Then I hope no one else does," he said enigmatically.
She arched a brow at his peculiar behaviour. "Whatever it is you're trying to hide, you know that I will find it out eventually."
"It is not that I am trying to hide it," he claimed. "It is just too difficult to explain."
