The news that Prince Daemon had celebrated the death of his good sister and nephew in a brothel with his friends and the members of the Gold Cloaks, dubbing his nephew as 'Heir for a day', spread like wildfire.
No one took it well, not the King, after being informed by his council, not the Princess, who was in attendance at said council, and not Clarysse, who was told by Alicent, who had overheard someone tell her father. Out of all three, Clarysse looked the angriest, seething like a true dragon.
There were jesters at Court that nicknamed the Baratheon lady as 'dragon stag' or as 'stormborn fury', due to the bond between her and the Targaryen family. And there was no one that could deny that Clarysse didn't actually breathe fire when she was angry.
She marched to the Prince's chambers, her face twisted into something that was half rage half disappointment. Everyone jumped out of her way, flinching as they stepped near the Baratheon Lady.
The guards that were stationed at the doors of Daemon's chambers had little time to react as Clarysse pushed the doors open, entering and slamming them close behind her.
Daemon, who had been in his bed sleeping, naked by the looks of it, jumped and lifted his head toward the intruder.
"You have no respect do you?" Clarysse hissed out, her voice so fiercely and angrily that Daemon actually saw fire in her eyes. "Disrespecting your lēkianna (older brother's child). Disrespecting your lēkia (older brother)."
Daemon stood from the bed, not caring that he was naked, not caring that Clarysse had a clear view of what he looked like without any clothes. She had put herself in that position and if she had any problems with it, she could leave.
"Tis early in the morrow, Clarysse." Daemon replied, walking over to the table in the middle of his room, the scars that he'd obtained over the years from fighting in Tourneys and dragon-riding evident. "Must you shout?"
A noise that resembled a growl left the Baratheon Lady, her eyes narrowed and she closed the distance between them. The cup that Daemon had filled with wine was knocked out of his hand, which had Daemon exhaling deeply and turn to face Clarysse.
The younger Lady didn't give the Prince time to react, her hand flying from the side and connecting with his cheek, fast and hard, making a loud noise when it hit its mark. Daemon reacted instantly, grabbing Clarysse by the neck, his purple eyes locking with her brown ones furiously.
Clarysse didn't react as her neck was grabbed roughly and tightly, the defiance that had been on her face still there, growing with each second.
"What in the Seven made you think you can hit a member of the Crown?" Daemon growled in her face, he kept his hold tight but still allowed her to breathe. He had never been hit by anyone unless it was during a fight, much less a woman.
But as he looked at Clarysse, he could see the pain in her eyes, the anger and resentment, the disappointment. Her usually carefully brushed and styled hair was a mess, she was still in her nightgown, with only a black mourning cloak covering it, and she wasn't wearing any jewelry like she often did.
"You disgust me." Clarysse told him in a venomous tone, glaring back at him.
There was a stark difference between the two, if one didn't count the fact that Clarysse was clothed and Daemon was not. Clarysse looked like she was actually in mourning, actually in pain, something that she couldn't show in public, because she was not really related to the Queen and the Prince. Daemon merely looked like he'd had a rough night drinking, when he was related to the recently deceased.
"You should be supporting your lēkia (older brother)." Clarysse continued, "You should be helping him through his grief. Helping Rhaenyra." Daemon's eyes narrowed at the mention of his niece.
"Yet you disrespect them by spitting on the babe."
If Clarysse had been anyone else but herself, but Rhaenyra's best friend, but his cousin's cousin, Daemon would've gutted her the moment she hit him. But he couldn't, because she was a Baratheon, Rhaenyra's best friend, the chosen daughter of his brother, his cousin's cousin.
"His name was Baelon, did you know?" Clarysse mocked, her eyes filling with tears, tears she knew she couldn't shed, tears she believed she didn't deserve to cry. "He was beautiful and strong, healthy and strong. He was your blood and you mock him." her voice rose, showing her anger, her pain.
Daemon's anger subsided, his face relaxed until there was nothing but sorrow on his face. He hadn't known the babe's name, he hadn't seen it or held it. But Clarysse had, and Daemon could tell that she was grieving, more than anyone, perhaps more than Rhaenyra, perhaps more than Viserys.
"He was a dragon and the Stranger took him!" this time she pushed against Daemon, her hands pressed against his bare chest, attempting to push him away, to punch him. She wanted to kill him for his actions, and Daemon couldn't blame her.
The Crown Prince let go of the Baratheon's neck, which surprisingly didn't show any redness, other than the redness that matched her face, with showed her anger. And despite being naked, he pulled Clarysse into his chest, holding the back of her head as Clarysse finally let out all of the emotions she'd been holding back.
Clarysse allowed herself to cry, to shout her pain, her anger, her emotions, she allowed herself to mourn and to feel, in the presence of a true relative of the babe she didn't carry and the mother that didn't birth her.
She knew that Daemon would never tell anyone of her display of emotions, she knew he would take the secret to his grave. He'd done so before, keeping each time she vented and cried her worries about Aemma in the shadows of the night in the gardens.
Daemon knew that he wasn't as close to Aemma and Baelon as Clarysse had been, he knew that he should be the one mourning their deaths like Clarysse was, but he simply couldn't.
He whispered soothing words in Valyrian, knowing that Clarysee knew what they meant, he was telling her that she had every right to mourn, to hit him, to scream, to shout, to feel the way she did, while rubbing the back of her head.
And soon enough Clarysse was calm enough to be released.
Her face was flushed red, both in anger and from crying, her eyes were red but she seemed calmer than when she arrived. "Nyke vēdros ao. (I hate you.)" Clarysse told Daemon, which caused him to chuckle while brushing the hair out of her face.
They were the same, second children who did not feel like they truly belonged to their families, but while Clarysse felt more dragon than stag, Daemon felt more dragon than the rest of his family. And perhaps that's why they knew they could confess everything to each other, they could be vulnerable in the other's presence, in secret.
Daemon was the first person that Clarysse confessed liking Alicent to, she had been sitting in the gardens, mourning Aemma's miscarried babe, when Daemon approached her. Clarysse, then aged one and ten, confessed to Daemon, then aged one and thirty, that she found boys and men unappealing, even if they were muscled and fit, she much preferred to watch the women of the Court rather than the men train.
"You should return to Rhaenyra's side, so she does not grow curious about your whereabouts." Daemon told the younger girl as she wiped her tears. She looked up at him, no longer angry, just simply disappointed.
Daemon's cheek was still red, and he could feel it burn, almost as hot as dragon fire.
"I don't think the King will forgive this slight, Daemon." Clarysse warned the Prince, his voice low and calm, a hit or warning in her words, to which Daemon nodded. He knew that as forgiving his brother was, the words he'd uttered that night were too much of an insult for him to forgive.
Clarysse pulled away from Daemon and curtsied to him before leaving the chambers, knowing that nothing that had transpired there would be uttered to anyone.