⤷ ❛ 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄 ❜
IN WHICH . . .
there's a saying: every time a targaryen
is born, the gods flip a coin - what if the
coin never landed for lillibaeth? what then?
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON,
daemon targa...
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(112 A.C. —— —— Red Keep, King's Landing )
Daemon Targaryen was furious — it was practically dripping off of him like acid, eroding the halls of the Red Keep as his heavy, booming steps echoed off the pale red ten foot stone walls lined with aperture springline windows. The first light of the morning sun started beaming heat onto his face as it rose in the sky, matching the burn feverishly rushing through his body.
Servants scurried out of his way, petrified of what the consequence may be if they weren't fast enough. The guards stationed against the wall every few feet strayed their usual eyesight that was glued ahead of them resembling statues to haste fleeting glances as the prince passed by with such wrath that it put them on wary alert.
Daemon's violent violet eyes were locked straight with a scorched venomous glower. His fists clenched tight enough to break skin and draw blood, the stinging of the torn flesh only fueling his anger, reminding him that his niece had just felt unendurable pain in the hours after dusk, during the blackest part of night, right here in the fortifications of a place he thought she'd be safe.
Ser Abyl Lash was fixed at the enormous two doors made out of expensive oak that was banded with black iron when Daemon arrived at the quarters that resided in the farthest back of the Keep with a perfect looming view of the towering rocks of Aegon's High Hill and Blackwater Bay below — it's merciless crashing waves waiting for someone to be stricken with death when they hit the water at a frightening speed.
The Kingsguard gave him a firm nod of respect and stepped out of his way, giving Daemon access to strike his knuckles against the sturdy wood. Lillibaeth Targaryen jumped at the enraged pounding that pervaded her chambers, "Fleur, go away, please!" Her voice was stern but thick with anguish, giving out at the exasperated request towards her lady-in-waiting of wishing to be left alone.
The princess's cane corso, Darconia, perked up fast and started barking, leaping off the bed and charging towards the door but ceased immediately when Daemon's head peeked through the crack, his face softening for just a moment when he saw the gentle giant and her whole demeaner shifted from defensive to compliant, "Mazumbagon, mīsvos angel." he spoke just above a whisper, opening the door further and entering the room and lending his open palm towards her cold nose. {Settle down, armored angel.}
Darconia gave him a biddable sniff and a single lick before turning away from Daemon with a slight snort of annoyance after having to get up from her deep slumber to defend her owner from the man she needed no protection from, and going to the soft and plush place Lillibaeth had set up for her in front of the lit over-grouted limestone fireplace consisting of silver that had the appearance of glinting diamonds when the sun seeped its midday rays into her chambers — one of Lilly's favorite spots where the hearth that was taller than her contained high flickering flames that sometimes whispered to her if she stared long enough into the vigorous glow.
