"A dragon might not be the only thing you ride tonight."
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Where the Dance of Dragons is stopped before it truly begins-with Rhaenyra as the Heir to the Iron Throne, Daemon Targaryen decides to stick it to Alicent and Otto Hightower one last time...
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The morning after their soirée into the streets of Flea Bottom—Daenaera and Daemon sat in the bath together with her leaned on his chest while he relaxed into the scalding heat of the tub with the full knowledge of her between his legs. She was staring at the ceiling, almost in complete concentration, while he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
"The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army..."
"Se Blākuata Rāsho drānot vilinio viārtis."
There was a pause of silence. "...and landed at the Blackwater Rush."
The corners of his lips perked up, head shaking softly. "Drānot," He repeated.
She repeated the word to herself twice, biting her lip as she tried to remember. Then she turned her head slightly to view his relaxed and content expression. "At the end?"
Daemon peeked an eye open. "At the mouth," He corrected.
"The mouth!" Daenaera whined softly, leaning her head back on his shoulder. "Come on, Dany, you knew that."
He smiled to himself to see her so focused. His head lifted fully as he reached up and caressed her hair behind her ears. And moved it away from her neck so he could press a sweet kiss against her pulse. "Guēsi ropakakson Aegon ūndas," He continued.
Daenaera tilted her head unconsciously to allow his kisses. Her brows still furrowed in thought. "Aegon ordered the trees to be...killed?"
"Felled." He chuckled against her skin when she immediately pouted. "It is a related word, my dear."
"I wish my Septas at Oldtown would have taught me Valyrian properly," She grumbled. "Even my brothers and Helaena know Valyrian, but Daeron and I have been withheld from our Valyrian heritage."
Daemon kissed down her shoulder.
It wasn't lost to him that Daenaera once never would have spoken bad about her lessons back in Oldtown, yet now it seemed she was beginning to see his way of things. She was beginning to speak her mind more and more, and he wasn't sure if he was proud of it or not.
To take her mind off these Valyrian lessons of theirs, he let his hands roamed down her body—over her soft, supple breasts, down her sides, and over her thighs. "You needn't rush yourself. There is plenty of time for you to learn," He assured her in a soft voice. He pulled her closer, kissing the back of her neck. "You know, Dany, last night was a moment of bliss for me. You've no idea all the stress, all the exhaustion and frustration and...and despair that comes with being The Hand of the King." He turned her head a bit so that they could lock eyes. "Could you help me once more?"
