The Unwanted | Daemon Targaryen [english]

XLIV. Both were plagued by thoughts.

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Pentos

BOTH WERE PLAGUED BY THOUGHTS. Meria because she was racking her brain about Westeros and their family and an eventual return to King's Landing.

Daemon because he was struggling to keep certain things secret any longer. It ate him up from the inside and he finally decided to change that.

Maybe simply talking to Meria about it would help him continue to live like they did before. Because he wanted that. He truly didn't want anything to change, neither his relationship with Meria nor their life here in Pentos.

But he couldn't help but become slowly but surely aware that the imagination of spending the rest of his days there didn't fill him with a feeling of ease or peaceful bliss anymore, but rather frustration and boredom. Therefore, he felt a guilty conscience which was why he needed to talk to Meria about it as soon as possible.

He wanted to do it without their children being around, so he waited for the right moment when he knew they were all occupied and he could talk to Meria alone. It's been about a fortnight since their fight concerning Daelion.

Meria was telling him something about her day while pouring them something to drink but Daemon, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, didn't really listen to her.

"I've heard something." He finally spoke up because if he hadn't done it in that exact moment, he would have probably never done it. Meria looked at him questioningly, her forehead creased.

Apparently, what he said did not suit whatever she was telling him about before, which meant she absolutely knew that he wasn't paying attention.

Other than that, she was probably wondering where he could have heard something since he has not left their estate for days and only talked to his family. Realizing that, he huffed quietly and shook the head over himself acting like a housewife.

"Care to elaborate on that or do you plan to continue grunting and staring into space?" She asked him before offering him a cup of wine and taking a seat next to him.

"Do you remember the war?" Meria frowned. "At the Stepstones?"

"Sure I do." She leaned a bit towards him. Her fingers travelled over his chest until they found the opened collar of his shirt and she could touch his bare, warm skin and certain scars of which she knew exactly where they would be. Placing her chin on his shoulder she stayed close to him.

"My King of the Narrow Sea." She added with a smirk.

It was weird. Although she never cared much about titles and feared the power that would come with being king of something, she felt a sense of pride referring to her husband's times as a war hero.