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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F O U R T E E N , D A E L L A
The carvings on the face say they find it hard ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Despite the milk of the poppy, Daella had blacked out when the Grand Maester pushed her shoulder back in the right location, which had been done with a loud popping sound that made her sick and dizzy simultaneously. She had survived the two stitches at the back of the head, letting out an occasional his and clenching her jaws, but the shoulder had proved too much even for Daella.
All the while, Helaena had sat next to Daella on the bed, holding her hand, brushing back her bloody hair and muttering sweet nothings, just as any sister would do. Much to her surprise, Aemond had stayed in the room as well. She had expected him to leave the moment he had laid her down on her bed, for he always blabbed about the great things he did on a single day during their shared evening meals, but instead, he had retreated to the back of her room, leaning against the wall and observing the scene quietly. Then, at once, it had hit Daella. He was staying because he was obviously entertained by the torturous state she was in and probably regretting the fact that he hadn't been the one to cause it.
A voice in the back of her mind told her off for even thinking such horrible thoughts. After all, had he not been the first person at her side, calming her down in High Valyrian and holding her when she did not have the strength to do it herself? Another voice reminded Daella of the cruel jabs he had made at and about her mother and the fact that he was still a bastard.
She dreamt of the happenings that day, the moment ser Cole had struck her down playing over and over again before her eyes. Wondering whether he truly hadn't heard her yield or if he had just pretended, Daella could still not understand what had caused his sudden anger. Certainly, she thought, it couldn't be caused by the hits she had delivered to his head, how embarrassing it might have been for the Master-at-arms. After all, Aemond had hit him more times and harder as well, and of that, ser Cole had seemed proud enough.
Letting out a loud groan, Daella suddenly felt terribly warm and with her good hand, she tried to push the covers from her body. When she rolled her head to the side, a fierce sting of pain shot through her back, sending a flare all the way down to her neck and another whine escaped her mouth as her hand shot up. Instead, she felt the source of her warmth, a hot jug resting against her wounded shoulder to soothe the muscles and relieve her of the pain. Daella pulled it away, grinding her teeth to prevent herself from moaning as her hand skimmed accidentally along her shoulder.
Suddenly, she was reminded of the way Aemond had carried her back inside the castle, holding on to her with such strength it had surprised her. Quickly pushing the thoughts about the man she so strongly disliked to the back of her mind, Daella tried to think of other things. Such as a plan to kill ser Cole, preferably in his sleep with a dull training sword, for it would certainly be a while now before she would be able to ride Vermithor or Silverwing again.
