"Give the girl to me to wife. Who else would take her now?"
The Rogue Prince was able to take what he desired, and is given the Snow Dragon to marry. Daemon and Maegelle's story was always that of Ice and Fire, leaving the Greens nothing but ash an...
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Maegelle's lips settled into a thin line, her eyes narrowed at the sight in front of her — it's been a while since she's seen her uncle return to Flea Bottom. "Uncle." her voice called out to him from the crowd, and his head turned slowly — his lips turning into a scowl as he caught sight of her hair. "Maegelle," he growled, feeling the ale from his throat thicken.
He felt ruined, retreating away from her chambers all those days ago. The only thing that aided his pain were his vices. "What are you doing here?" he interrogated, feeling anger coursing through his veins. Maegelle was much like him — often temperamental, and reckless. His perfect image — and it felt like staring in front of a mirror.
She frees her forearm away from his grip, adjusting her cloak and lowering her head. "What are you doing here?" she returned the question, the tops of her eyebrows quaking in confusion. Ever since his engagement to her — he's stopped visiting Flea Bottom. Why has he returned? "Tis' none of your business." he responded brashly. He didn't visit a whorehouse, he went into a tavern and had a few drinks.
"Does my father know you're here?" Maegelle frowned, smirking at the idea of her uncle finally being put in his place. Daemon's breath hastened. 'She wouldn't dare?' His nervousness flowed away, and he smiled smugly, "Does my brother know you're here?" he asked, the sides of his shining with a familiar glint. Maegelle rolls her eyes — she was here because of Viserys.
He was a good father to his daughters, but a bad father to his heir.
"Tis' none of your business." she mocked him, adjusting her loose cloak once more. It was a mistake trying to venture deep inside the slums, but she couldn't bare the thought of having her subjects live in poverty — all the while, she dines and drinks expensive wine. Her forefathers and foremothers lived a life of luxury, but she swore that she wouldn't be the same. Maegelle would be a good Queen, and everyone would love her.
His silence was deafening — she turned towards the other side, catching the wisp of a small orphanage. His body shifts uncomfortably, seeing her attempt to disappear in the crowd. He grabs her forearm, a little harsher than he anticipated. "Where are you going?" he rasped darkly, her body pressed against his. "It's really none of your concern." She tries to pull him away, but he only pulls her closer.
He stares drunkenly at her honey-brown eyes. If the stranger were to see her face, then the god would be brought back to life.
"Tell me, woman!" he raised his voice, feeling a little annoyed at her childish disobedience. He didn't want to yell at her — but he didn't want her vulnerable in the streets of silk. There were dangerous men and women alike prowling in these streets. Her safety was his priority. "I'm visiting an orphanage!" she yelled back, but no one seemed to realize that they were there.
"An orphanage? What are you? The fucking Septon of Baelor?" he rolled his eyes, trying to drag her towards the safe confines of the Red Keep. Maegelle was his idealistic little girl — and there was no place for naivety in the Streets of Death. "Daemon." she said in an unnervingly calm demeanor. He stops for a moment, his face softened. "I will be their Queen. I must show them that I care." she whispered lightly — ensuring that it would only reach his ears.
