"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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Daenaera walked along the road path, her swollen feet aching and blistered. Her lips dry and cracked, and heavy bags under her eyes. She was bone-chill, and her pale cheeks rosy from the freezing weather all around her.
Her gown was now tattered and filthy from being out in the elements.
Moonheart had flown away that morning, most likely to hunt or for whatever else. But the thing was, she had never returned and Daenaera felt herself start to become scared and lonely. So, she walked for many hours until she found a road-path. With any hope, she would find a kind soul.
Her feet were chattering as she hugged herself as she walked. Her hand rubbing her stomach every so often because of how it ached. She didn't want to think about why it felt that way. Though, a part of her knew. Was it pathetic of her to begin those few, blissful days with Daemon on Dragonstone wrapped in his arms warm and safe?
Daenaera was so much in her head that she didn't hear the sound of hooves and a cart rolling. Not until she heard a voice call out to her.
"You alright, love?"
Daenaera stopped walking, brows furrowing as she saw someone for the first time in days.
A man - with dark brown hair and bearded cheeks, young like her brother Aegon but with dark brown eyes. He was riding a black destrier, the horse mighty, and if she knew any better she'd say he spent all his coin on this horse rather than fine clothes.
Her heart finally filled with relief as she saw him, but she also looked at him warily as she stumbled off the road path as he brought his horse to a stop in front of her.
She didn't answer him immediately, instead staying quiet while staring at him in awe. Her head craned up to him still on his horse.
Daenaera blushed, immediately being a bit skittish when the stranger stared down at her form for a long few moments, before he threw her a fur coat from the back of his horse. She caught it and immediately her nose scrunched at how it smelled of animal.
"That'll keep you warm," The man told her, voice low and soothe. "What's your name, m'lady?"
M'lady? This man was common-born. She thought to herself. Another giveaway could have been the string of dead squirrels and rabbits hanging from the latches of his destrier.
Daenaera held the heavy fur coat in her hand. The fur was a bit matted, but it would do. She was scared to answer, and suddenly she felt less like a Princess and more like...well, vulnerable.
