For almost her entire life, Daella Targaryen has lived as Mellara Rivers, the bastard daughter of Arnold Arryn and cupbearer of Lady Jeyne Arryn. First and trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daella had but slight contact with her fami...
A/N: credits to the gif below go to @Spookyhookah ((: <3
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T H I R T Y - F O U R
Is she a lost embrace? ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Daella stared straight ahead as she walked through the Great Sept, clenching down harshly on the arm of the knight of the Kingsguard who was escorting her. She was professionally ignoring the burning sensation of stares following her as she put all of her attention on putting one foot in front of the other and feeling like she might throw up any moment, she forced herself to keep going. She could not yet see Aemond, waiting for her on the dais between the statues of the Warrior and the Maid, and her heart longed for his calming presence.
The first and the last time she had been in the Sept was when she and Aemond had decided to change Aegon's fate by putting him on a ship, the crown passing down to Aemond in the process. Trying to push the thoughts about her uncle somewhere in the eastern islands away, Daella tried to focus on just about anything else to keep herself from fretting too much. She was acutely aware of the cold metal necklace resting on her neck, the weight of the red stones in her ears and the sleeves of her wedding gown dragging over the floor. It was common for girls to marry in white, or at least a shade of it, and thus far, her red and golden gown had made a commoner or two gasp in surprise.
Finally seeing the dais, Daella increased her grip on ser Golding's forearm and looked up. At once, Aemond's gaze met hers and her breath hitched in her throat. He was looking formidable, Daella could find no other words to describe his appearance. He was wearing a black tunic and breeches, the laces of it a deep red colour matching her dress, and over the place of his heart, a red three-headed dragon was embroidered. His hair was in his usual fashion, the light breeze moving the locks framing his stern face, and though Daelle understood why he wore his eyepatch, she still yearned to see him without it.
Her step nearly faltered, but she caught herself at the last moment, forcibly slowing down to keep herself from rushing to the dais. No longer did she try to deny it, she was in for it deep when it came to Aemond, even if she would never admit it out loud. Staring deep into his eye, she felt a slight tug of dread in her stomach at the realisation of not quite knowing how he felt about her, always appearing cold and composed when needed and kind and sarcastic enough when wanted.
There was another reason for that deep, sinking feeling in her body. It consisted of the fact that with this marriage, she was undeniably bound to him. She would have to be loyal to him, as was expected of a wife, and Daella feared that in the time soon to come, that would result in a sturdy conflict with the commitment she owed her mother. There had been no other letters from Dragonstone, not even from either of her brothers, and that hurt Daella more than she liked to admit. The date of her marriage, and the announcement of her betrothal way before that, had been announced to all who cared enough to listen. Daella, or rather Aemond as King of the realm, had received guests at the Red Keep coming from as far as beyond the Neck, ready to enter the lists and celebrate in the honour of their marriage, so why hadn't her mother, an hour flight away on dragon back, bothered to visit her only daughter?
