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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The feast, thrown in his honor, runs long into the night. Long enough that the wine begins to run dry and Daemon can feel his desire to find his chambers. He's been unsettled all night, despite the many congratulations he receives. There are lords interested in his prowess as a dragon rider. They all want to be his friend, now.
He's tired of it, really. Just tired enough that he almost misses the heavy twang from the crossbow across the feast hall.
Daemon jumps to his feet, hand already releasing Dark Sister from its scabbard. There are cries throughout the hall, and a scuffle at the far end.
Borros goes down, tackled out of the hidden alcove by Ser Darriston himself. The crossbow goes sliding across the floor from his hands.
The noise only grows. Calamity. Chaos. Somewhere outside, his dragon roars.
Leanna is covered in blood.
And then Daemon is roaring for a maester, lunging for her. Not just Boremund's blood from the bolt sticking through the Lord's throat. He slouches over his dinner plate. Dead.
Leanna is pinned to her chair by another bolt, the wooden spike gone right through her shoulder. Blood spills over her pale skin, cascading over her dark dress. Her eyes are wide with shock as she shakily lifts a hand to the bolt.
"Don't move," Daemon commands, pushing his way to her. "Leave it there. If you remove it you'll lose too much blood."
"Daemon," she hisses, hand shaking as she lifts it.
"Easy," he breathes, voice steady. "You're alright. We'll fix you up." Her gaze starts to drift to her right. To her father slumped across the table. Daemon quickly lifts his hand to her chin, steering her eyes back to him. "Look at me," he pleads. He can't have her panicking more than she should. The wound is already nasty. The bolt has torn through muscle and tendon, completely spearing her shoulder. She was lucky it had missed bone, or else he is certain it would be severed.
Leanna whimpers as maester Owen arrives, the young man surveying the bolt for only a quick moment.
"Hold her, Lord Daemon. Have her bite this. We must pull her from the bolt."
"She will bleed," he protests. The maester looks at him for only a moment.
"Yes, she will. That is why we must act fast and you will hold her while I staunch the wound."
Daemon nods, pressing the leather between her teeth. Leanna is very pale as Daemon supports her. Her scream is muffled as he and the maester begin to bring her forward.
She passes out in his arms, going limp almost instantly. The room swims before Daemon as he holds her. The maester begins to work, ignoring the room and even Daemon.
She does not wake until hours have passed and she is swaddled in her bed with her shoulder wrapped in bandages. She sits up in her bed, eyes going wide as the shock of the night returns. Daemon returns to her quickly, reaching out a hand.
