Daenys Velaryon is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. As the oldest child of the heir to the throne, she has duties to fulfill, duties that she is ex...
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Year: 129 AC
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"It is your name day."
Daenys did not respond. It was the first time in five days that Aemond had graced her with a visit — she had heard him speak to her from outside countless times before — but as always, she did not say a word.
She sat by his window, her forlorn figure silhouetted against the warm hues of the late afternoon sun. Her legs were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them with her chin between her knees. The tendrils of her unbound hair cascaded around her, and she appeared fragile, almost ghostly, in the fading light of the day. If he blinked, Aemond feared she'd disappear altogether.
That he could not stand. She could not leave him. He would not be able to bear it. She was his and she was the one thing he would not give up, although how much of her caged self still belonged to him, he did not know. His heart ached at the sight of her.
"It is your name day, Daenys," he repeated. "Would you..."
He trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to finish his sentence.
Would you like anything?
What a ridiculous thing to ask someone who was a prisoner in the one place they were supposed to be safe. He knew what she'd ask for, of course, if she ever spoke to him. She'd ask to return home. To her real home in Dragonstone, for he was no longer her home, no doubt.
"Daenys," he murmured again, taking hesitant steps towards her, the words heavy with concern. "Jorrāeliarzy."
She stiffened at the name, eyes filling with tears involuntarily. She kept her back to him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her cry. He would not get that from her. He would not see how much he broke her heart, how much she still cared, despite her vows to loathe him, despite everything.
"It has been days since we've spoken. You've been neglecting your meals, and you refuse to speak to anyone...even Helaena."
When she remained motionless, her gaze fixed steadfastly outside, refusing to acknowledge his presence or his words, the prince's brows furrowed, a mixture of guilt and helplessness painting his features.
He hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between them, moving with a quiet resolve, seeking solace in her presence. When she still did not react, he folded his legs under himself, sitting on the floor beside her, his head gently resting against her thigh, where the fabric of her dress felt soft against his skin. For a fleeting moment, their proximity seemed to create a fragile semblance of tranquillity, which neither of them dared to disturb, afraid that even the slightest movement would shatter it.
If Daenys tried hard enough, she could ignore the truth of the world and allow herself to enjoy this frozen moment in time where even the fates seemed to hold their breath. She could ignore Aemond's treachery, or delude herself into thinking that he had little say in his actions. She could tell herself that he would never betray her on purpose and that surely there was a misunderstanding of some sort to be straightened out. She would ask him about it of course, but at another time. For now, she'd be content with what was, instead of concerning herself with what could be.
