For almost her entire life, Daella Targaryen has lived as Mellara Rivers, the bastard daughter of Arnold Arryn and cupbearer of Lady Jeyne Arryn. First and trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daella had but slight contact with her fami...
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T W E N T Y - F I V E
But I feel like I die 'til I feel your touch ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"Umbās, Vermithor," Daella said lowly, holding up her hand to the great beast as she gave Silverwing another piece of meat. The she-dragon nuzzled Daella's hand and let out a good-natured huff at the extra treats she got. Her hand disappeared into her bag and she threw another piece to Vermithor, his brown eyes looking at the red meat with a longing so great Daella wondered if humans were able to stare at each other like that. "Rȳbās."
She could see the drool drip from Vermithor's mouth and at last, she gave her command. The Bronze Fury let out a sea of fire, roasting the meat nice and well, before he swallowed it in one bite. Chuckling and still feeling a thrill at seeing the magnificence of the mighty beast, Daella murmured soft praises and petted his nose. Not a moment later, she could feel Silverwing bump her head into the back of her leg and almost losing her balance, Daella laughed and gave Silverwing equal parts attention.
"You have them well in control, Princess," one of the Shepherds said from behind her.
Daella looked over her shoulder and offered the man in his poor clothes a smile. "Thank you."
"You have been the last to claim them and yet, of all the dragons and all the Targaryens I have trained, from Syrax to Arrax to even the great old Vhagar, you appear to have the most authority," the Shepherd continued. "Especially since the last week, they seem to listen to you particularly well."
Daella thought back to a certain night last week, feeling her cheeks turn slightly red from her embarrassment at the memories. The wine ser Iwan had offered her had hit her hard and by the time she and Aemond had managed to reach the secret passageways that would lead to the inside of the Red Castle, she had barely been able to stand. Her mind foggy, her legs trembling and the ground nearing, Daella had realised that the cup had not merely contained wine.
Before she could have dragged herself to the floor, however, Aemond had caught her, a positively dismayed expression on his face. He turned her to the side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other underneath her knees, and getting an overwhelming sense of dejá-vù, Daella had allowed herself to be carried all the way to her chambers.
"Let this be a wise lesson, my wife-to-be," Aemond had spoken to her, his voice a hoarse whisper and close to her ear, sending shivers all over her body. "To not accept drinks you have not seen being poured yourself."
Daella had laughed, swung her feet and threw her arms around Aemond's neck merrily, her joy never once ceasing during the entire way back. That joy, however, turned into ashes the next day, when she had woken with a headache worse than when ser Cole had pushed her to the ground and with an ever greater sense of humiliation at the thought of having to face Aemond after her embarrassing behaviour. She had locked herself in her room for the entire day, going out of her way to escape their shared supper by telling one of her maids to tell the Queen that she felt sick.
