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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years

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Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Two

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Sexual themes. Word count: ~2.5k

Chapter summary: Daemon battles with self doubt and Melessa makes a bold proposition. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Daemon’s thoughts are filled with Melessa when he awakens, his hand lazily slipping beneath the bedclothes to relieve his arousal. Images of shining flaxen hair, rosy petal soft lips and wide cerulean eyes cloud his mind as his fist moves rapidly up and down his hardened cock.

This is the second time since their meeting in front of the tapestries that he has found himself in this predicament. He’d feel embarrassed were it not the only thing preventing him from marching through the halls of the Red Keep, throwing open the door to her bedchamber and tearing her asunder as he presses her into the mattress.

The memory of the scent of almond oil and rosewater burns hotly in his nostrils. He imagines breathing it in as he presses past her maidenhead, hearing her girlish cries of discomfort as he molds her to him, ruining her for any other man, making her irredeemably his. It’s this that finally sends him toppling over the edge, his skin flushed and breathing ragged, ropes of pearly spend painting his fingers and stomach.

He reaches across to the bedside table to retrieve a cloth and begin cleaning himself up. It’s in this moment of post-peak clarity that he wonders if she’d be better off if he just left her alone. She is such a sweet, delicate little flower. What could the Rogue Prince possibly offer her? It is not in his nature to play the role of the white knight swooping in to save the fair maiden. Would she really have it that bad if she were to simply marry Aemond? A life of predictable neglect awaits her, no doubt, but at least it is one that is safe and comfortable.

No. He is Daemon Targaryen - he takes what he wants, and he wants Melessa. He knows she wants him too, even if she doesn’t realise it yet. He has never been one to shy away from a battle and she would be his most victorious triumph yet. His family have taken so much away from him over the last two decades. It is about time he took something back; they owe him that much.

It is almost noon when Daemon walks out into the training yard. A crowd has gathered to watch Aemond spar with Alicent’s personal guard, Ser Criston Cole, an obvious show for the sake of the visiting Tyrell family. Daemon can’t help but notice with a smirk that Rhaenyra and her sons are absent from the gaggle of spectators. How thoroughly unsupportive.

As Daemon observes, he is struck by the skill with which his nephew fights. There is a fluidity to his movements which is surprising, considering his impairment. However, it is not Aemond that he is here for. His eyes scan the crowd and he spots it; long, pale blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Melessa. He moves closer, pausing when he sees the portly figure of her father, Moryn, standing beside her. Perhaps not the best idea to engage her in idle chit chat while he is present.

Daemon studies Moryn. He is far too short for a man and obscenely plump. His balding head bears the remnants of graying mousy brown hair, and Daemon wonders if it all migrated south to position itself within the ridiculous mustache which adorns his upper lip. He is quietly grateful that Melessa takes after her mother, and cannot help the titter that escapes him at the thought of this beastly man rutting atop the poor woman.

Looking around, he captures the displeased gaze of Otto. The older man stands facing the spectacle before him, yet his eyes are narrowed with contempt and focused solely on Daemon. Cunt. Daemon sends him a quick wink which causes him to bristle, turning away with a scowl. If only he knew.

As Aemond works to drive Criston backwards, the crowd shifts and disperses, making way for their movements. Daemon is delighted to find himself finally standing next to Melessa.

He takes in her downcast expression, the glassiness of her eyes and tight line her usually full lips are set into. She is bored. Smug satisfaction blossoms across Daemon’s features as he looks down at her with a wry smile.

“Hello again.”

He cannot help but notice the way her face animates as she looks up at him, her blue eyes practically light up as those soft petal lips curve upwards. So she does feel the same way.

“Daemon,” she breathes happily.

“Is your betrothed keeping you entertained? You look positively riveted.”

She sighs, looking away and fidgeting with a lock of her hair. “He hasn’t looked my way once. I doubt he even knows I’m here.”

Of course he doesn’t. She is nothing more than an obligation passed onto him by his mother. Aemond is unable to look beyond his own self interest far enough to notice the beauty of the Highgarden rose before him. Lucky for her, he does.

Feigning concern, Daemon pouts slightly. “Oh? Are you not spending much time together?”

Melessa’s eyes flicker cautiously at the people surrounding them, and she lowers her voice as she speaks to Daemon. “The words you have spoken to me since I arrived here outnumber everyone else’s combined.”

“A pity,” he responds, voice filled with mock sympathy. “Perhaps there is still time for you to find a better suited match? Someone who can help you blossom from the pretty little bud you are now into a beautiful flower.”

“And who might you suggest?” she asks, eyeing him curiously.

He is about to open his mouth to respond when he catches sight of Otto and Moryn making their way towards them. Shit.

“Another time perhaps, my lady.”

He nods to her, carving a swift path through the crowd, eager to avoid the insufferable presence of his brother’s Hand. He is not yet ready for Melessa to meet the side of him that Otto evokes. She’d be lost to him before he even has her, such is the rage that man inspires.

Daemon does not see Melessa for the rest of the day, but her absence allows him to put into action a plan that has been brewing inside his head ever since she admitted to Aemond’s neglect of her.

He has a servant fetch him a dozen red roses from the gardens, arranged neatly in a bouquet. A heavy-handed gesture, considering she is from Highgarden and likely sick of the sight of the damnable things. However, he feels the message he intends to include more than makes up for such thoughtlessness.

“To a beautiful bud: I hope you find someone that makes you bloom.”

He smirks to himself as he re-reads the scrap of parchment, rolling it up and tucking it into the bouquet. Just innocent enough for plausible deniability should anyone question his intentions - a simple congratulatory gift from the Prince’s Uncle, absolutely not a ploy to suggest she have him instead.

Daemon waits until the following morning to seek Melessa out again, holding the bouquet behind his back once he finds her. Predictable little thing she is, he knows exactly where to look for her. She sits on a stone bench in the gardens, leaning slightly back on her palms. Her pale hair falls in soft, loose waves down her back as the delicate features of her face are turned upwards towards the sun, eyes closed as she basks in its warmth.

She is doubtless missing the lush greenery of home, so the Red Keep’s gardens provide her a much needed sanctuary from the barren stone labyrinth that is King’s Landing. Dragonstone is even more desolate and gray than the capital. He wonders how she will fare on an isle where nothing grows.

Tendrils of doubt niggle at him as he watches her. She is so full of girlish exuberance. Is he really being fair in pursuing her? Will a life with a battle-hardened man twice her age not snuff out her carefree innocence? He supposes it will die a slow and painful death surrounded by the Hightowers and their miserable brood, anyway - a blossoming flower slowly being strangled by invasive weeds. He can at least offer it a quick and relatively pain-free end.

Clearly aware she is being watched, Melessa opens her eyes, turning her head to face him.

Daemon cannot help but feel a little irritated that he has been robbed of the opportunity to initiate the encounter, such has become the dynamic of their relationship; he enjoys catching her unaware. He knows deep down that his irritation stems from embarrassment. He is not usually one to stand around gawking, and yet he has been caught doing just that.

His entire demeanour visibly softens, his shoulders relaxing and a faint smile playing upon his lips the moment he sees her light up in his presence. The apples of her cheeks look full and positively velveteen as she grins excitedly. The lack of demureness would surely earn her a scolding from a septa. It is improper, vulgar even, for a lady to smile like that at a man, and yet he is delighted by it. He has made her look like that, no one else, just him.

“A pleasure to see you again, petal.” The pet name is saccharine as it tumbles from his lips and he is quietly pleased when she doesn’t recoil at it.

“And you, Daemon,” Melessa replies, rising from the bench and walking towards him. The grin has left her face, yet her eyes continue to shine with excitement. “A wonderful morning to be in the gardens.”

“Yes, quite,” he smirks. “I’d heard a radiant flower had rooted itself here and had to come and see for myself.”

“Oh, really? Might I help you find it?” She cocks her head, her pretty face a mask of curiosity as she gazes up at him wide-eyed.

Daemon has to suck his teeth to suppress the laugh attempting to force its way out of him. Precious little darling doesn’t understand his innuendo at all. How sweet. His eyes travel the length of her body appreciatively before returning to her face.

“Yes, let’s walk,” he decides. It would be far better to bestow his gift upon her away from prying eyes. He is beginning to feel foolish standing with one arm obscured behind him.

He takes the liberty of placing his free hand on the small of Melessa’s back as they walk, smirking to himself when she makes no attempt to stop him.

“I have something for you,” he says, coming to a stop and turning to face her once he is satisfied they’ve ventured far enough away from the Keep.

Daemon produces the bouquet from behind his back and sees her grin for the second time that day. The excitement in her eyes is palpable as they shift from the bouquet to his own gaze. He inhales sharply. That bloody grin. There is something wickedly dirty about it, and the worst part is that she is wholly unaware of it. It leaves him longing to press her up against the nearest wall and do everything in his power to wipe it from her face. The lust it stirs within him feels almost suffocating.

“They are beautiful. Thank you.”

The sincerity of her gratitude makes him feel like he has just gifted her the stars in the sky. Daemon stands a little straighter, basking in her gratitude.

She reaches to take the roses from him and he lets her, taking note of the fact that she doesn’t wait to be offered them. Typical behaviour of a spoiled highborn lady. Impatient little thing, she is. It is nothing that can’t be fucked out of her, though.

“I suspect you have been overwhelmed by gifts from my nephew since your arrival, but I wanted to show a token of my own appreciation.”

He watches as she circles a dainty index finger around the petals of a rose. He cannot help but wonder if she touches herself with such care. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as the thought causes his cock to stir in his breeches. Melessa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“He hasn’t, actually,” she says solemnly, still focusing on the flowers. “Aemond and I don’t spend time together unless it is arranged by his mother or grandfather.”

Daemon is thoroughly unsurprised by her revelation. Aemond doesn’t strike him as the classically romantic type, likely never making her grin the way that he has twice. He likes to think that that is a smile that’s just for him.

“You must be positively bereft,” he teases. “I am glad I am able to make up for his most tragic shortcomings.”

He watches as she plucks the note from between the flowers, taking the bouquet back from her so that she may unfurl the parchment between dainty fingers and read it. If she catches the meaning behind his message, she does not show it.

She fixes him with a steady, unblinking stare, full of seriousness. “Perhaps you could make up for all of them?”

Daemon swallows thickly. Hot prickles of panic dancing along his spine, in spite of his stoic exterior. “And how would you like me to do that?”

He already knows what she is going to say, but there is a small part of him that is hoping she won’t. Her next utterance hits him harder than any strike from a sword ever has.

“I could marry you instead.”

The jut of her jaw, the look of determined defiance that is almost a silent challenge brings him back to fifteen years previous. “Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.” He’d felt the same dread and panic when Rhaenyra had propositioned him, and he had fled. Could he do the same to Melessa? It would be cruel to abandon her after having pursued her so avidly and actively encouraging her distaste for Aemond. But at the same time, is marrying him instead really the right thing for her?

“Is that really what you want?” he asks, searching her expression for any hint of hesitation. He sees none.

“Yes.” Her reply is instant. “I have enjoyed your company far more than I have enjoyed Aemond's. We are a better match. I know you have the power to make it happen.”

So, the delicate flower is fearless. Daemon is quietly impressed by her. He has run from what he wanted once before. He will not make the same mistake again.

“Very well,” he says, passing the bouquet back to her. “I shall make it so.”

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