When the blood of the dragon meets the soul of the dragon, the continent begins to burn.
The Baratheons are steadfast, strong, and formidable. Leanna Baratheon is no different. She is the storm, and no one, Targaryen or other, will bring her down.
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Leanna is sitting before her dressing table, pleating her hair into a thick rope down her back, when there is a commotion outside the door to her chambers. Her fingers still as the door flies open, and a figure storms into her room.
There are voices behind him, the flashing faces of Baelon and Viserys as they laugh behind Daemon's harsh entry to her room. They are quickly hidden behind the heavy closing door as Daemon's hand shoves it back. It slams loudly, the sound echoing through the room.
Leanna is rather lucky she has not yet brought Stormswaith out to clean and sharpen it. She's not sure how Daemon would react to his new wife possessing an ancient Valyrian sword. Not kindly, she thinks.
She does not turn to him as she continues to braid her hair. She has yet to decide what kind of image she wants her husband to have of her. Her father had given her plenty of counsel on how to interact with Daemon, but she was still uneasy.
His reputation is shadowed by dark whispers. They follow him into private chambers and made her hesitant to spend any time alone with him. However, even if there were guards present, there wasn't much they could do to aid her. She was his wife now, and that meant he could do just about whatever he pleased to her. In the law of the land, Leanna was just another piece of property to his name.
"Do you want to be beheaded before the next moon?" He growls, crossing the room in two long paces.
"What do you mean?" She asks, feigning complete innocence. Her fingers still as she reaches the end of her hair and she ties off the braid with a ribbon.
"I understand you are unfamiliar with the way Court is conducted here," he bites between gritted teeth, "but walking around spilling the secrets of your House is not the way to make allies. People here are not your friends, do not continue to talk to them as such."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Leanna tilts her head as she turns slightly. Bats her eyelashes, draws her eyebrows. All it takes is a slight purse of her lips to truly seal the bewildered, clueless expression. Daemon scoffs, hand lifting to rub his face.
"You're truly that dull? You're going to get Borros killed with your little gossiping. Is that what you want? Gods, it's probably already too late."
"My brother?" She sucks in a breath, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. Daemon takes another step towards her. He moves more out of genuine distress than intimidation, she thinks.
"Do you know another Borros? Of course your brother. And it's going to get you killed right along with it." His head shakes in anger, annoyance. His white-blonde hair, pulled back into a low knot, begins to loosen. "Perhaps I should let it happen. Then I will be free from this little arrangement."
"You don't want to be married?" She allows her eyes to flood with a sheen of tears.
