"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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this is how you fall in love -
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An elm tree—big and its' roots sticking out from the ground. Its' leaves shaded the clearing they were in, hiding them from the sun and the gods eyes above.
Marcellus sat on one of the protruding roots, using a knife to cut away at slices of an apple. His eyes on the Princess and a faint smile on his lips as he watched her try to balance on one of the fallen logs a few feet away.
He watched her as she attempted to cross over to him, stepping carefully on the logs to remain balanced. She was a sweet image: her hair in braids and strands out of place, the focus on her face as she tried to balance. She was so focused, so determined, but there is a certain playfulness to her right now.
He watched her for a few moments before holding the apple slice over to her.
"You are doing wonderfully by the way. Very focused. You're a bit wobbly though," He said calmly, trying to keep a grin from appearing.
Daenaera grinned, hopping off the log and skipping over to him. "You said you needed rest when we stopped," She pointed out as she took the apple between her teeth, her lips brushing against his fingers before she sat down. "But you have not closed your eyes once."
His fingers curled slightly at the feeling of her lips against them. It was so pleasant, a different type of pleasure he's never experienced before.
He noticed her observation, and he laughed softly. "I cannot rest. Not while I am with you." It was a playful response, but also a genuine one as well. He was finding himself quite fond of her company, even though it is making the journey take considerably longer than it should.
"And why not?" Daenaera asked, watching him cut the slices. A small smile on her face, "And I told you, stop calling me Princess. You can just call me Dany."
"You are a princess still, though," He said, and his words are meant playfully. "And I shall not stop calling you by that title."
He finished cutting the last pieces off of the apple, and he offered one of them to her. "And you know very well why I cannot rest. Because a sellsword cannot rest while there is still someone so precious around."
Daenaera smiled, taking the apple from his hand and biting into it. "You need rest," she insisted softly. "How else will you ride, fight, or talk with me?"
"I need not much rest at all, Princess—"
He stopped himself, catching himself again when she gave him this playful glare that was as intimidating as a little chipmunk.
