Claiming the Dragon

The Red Keep

Rhaenyra sighed and picked at a random piece of thread sticking out of the sleeve of her blouse as she made her way to the Great Hall. Daemon had been spending a horrendous amount of time there since the couple's arrival at Dragonstone, growing more preoccupied with every passing day. When she entered, the prince was leaning over the Painted Table, analyzing the map of Westeros.

"Are we going to war, then?" she asked playfully, wrapping her arms around Daemon's waist and planting a kiss on his shoulder.

"Of course not, princess," he replied, turning to peck her cheek absentmindedly.

"Well, then, what are you doing in here?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"Just thinking, my little dragon," her uncle responded, taking a long drink from his cup of ale as he tapped his finger on the edge of the table, lost in though.

"About?" she prodded.

"Our strategy, at the time of your succession, of course." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in annoyance, glancing at the map.

"I'm not worried about that right now, are you? We have years before that becomes important." Little did she let on, there was a plan beginning to form in her own mind, one she desired to act on soon. "Besides, my father has named me heir, so what strategy is needed?"

"It's important now." Daemon insisted, tucking his wife between himself and the table and wrapping an arm around her waist. "The Vale would surely support you; they've never complained about following a woman, as I noticed with my late wife's rule of Runestone." Rhaenyra stewed on the comment for a moment; the distaste in Daemons voice. She wondered, at times, if the prince had a hand in his wife's death, as the rumors implied, and, more often, wondered if she actually cared whether or not he did.

"Daemon," she complained "must we—" The prince let out a rough sigh.

"No, we don't have to talk about it right now," he interrupted, "As you said, it is a long way off." He lifted her chin and gave her a long, sweet kiss, before turning his gaze back to the map. When his attention remained on the table, the princess scoffed and slipped from his arms and out of the room, leaving Daemon to his thoughts. She was nearly as bored of Dragonstone as she had been of court. Her uncle's company had always been her best relief from the daily monotony, but she was quickly learning that the way Daemon behaved at court, and the way he behaved in private were two different things.

It had been weeks since they arrived, and she longed to see her father again. Though she loathed to admit it, she even missed Alicent's company. Since they had landed, Daemon had grown increasingly restless. Of course, he had walked with her along the beach, and flown beside her often enough. He had taken her well and constantly, which she found she enjoyed immensely. But in Daemon fashion, when he wasn't fucking, he was fighting, and if he wasn't fighting, he was thinking about it. In truth, they seemed to have gotten on better when he had been away for long periods of time.

Still, she was free to come and go as she pleased, and Daemon never pestered her when she was occupied with whatever made her happy. He didn't pine for her attention the way her other suitors would have and Rhaenyra rather enjoyed that. When she'd entered the Great Hall, the princess had intended to broach the subject of a return trip to King's Landing, as her father's nameday was approaching. Instead, her preoccupied uncle had made her mind up for her and she hurried to pack a bag...

Whether it had been minutes or hours since Rhaenyra left the room, Daemon wasn't sure. One moment she was beside him, staring at the map, and the next she was gone. Whenever she disappeared that way, he got a sinking feeling in his gut, like a puzzle missing a large piece. As he resolved to go and find her, he heard the screech of Syrax as she took to the skies. Never happy in one place. He thought to himself with a smirk. They were very much alike in that sense, restless as dragons.