Emotional Damage–Chapter 8–Lyn Gala

Reading Time:
13 Minutes

The wedding was utterly predictable and the bedding equally so.  Several women groped Daemon, but he didn’t begrudge them their only chance to touch him.  Daemon was already in the room when the wedding guests showed up with a mostly naked Rhea Royce. Where the women had stripped Daemon down to his nothings before depositing him in the bridal room, Rhea still clung to her in her shift, her hands slapping away those men who tried to strip it from her. At least until she threw a punch at one. Daemon was amused to see a Lannister take the hit to his ugly nose before Rhea dashed into the room. 

Daemon moved forward to defend his wife’s honor, still naked as the day he was born. Nudity didn’t prevent him from picking up a dressing stick and threatening the man. “You have delivered my wife and now you shall leave.” He brandished the stick as if it were a sword, and the men all took their leave while making ribald jokes and stumbling with drink.

Daemon sighed and turned back to Rhea. “Are you unharmed?”

“I find bedding an abhorrent practice,” Rhea complained.

“I quite agree. I’m only glad my grandmother put an end to the practice of lords taking the wife before the husband because if my father or even King Jaehaerys came through that door, I would not be pleased.”

“I am quite sure that a good kick could geld them,” Rhea said but then her voice grew softer. “And I am quite sure I would not have been allowed to defend myself had I lived before the queen’s new law.”

“Likely not,” Daemon said. He returned the dressing stick to the bench and came to the bed. “I do not wish to move too quickly for you, my lady.”

“My prince, I have seen what animals do in the field. I am not unaware of my duty or particularly frightened of it. If sheep and horses can manage the task, I am sure I shall prove up to it as well.”

That was a little too blunt for Daemon’s taste. He was sure she had not meant to compare what they were to do in a marriage bed to animals rutting in a field. He assumed so, anyway. But she often phrased things in ways that made it easy to take offense.

Daemon walked to the closest lantern and blew out the candle. “I hope we can find more pleasure in our pairing than simply two horses rutting in the field.”

“What need is there for pleasure? The act is to provide heirs. I have heard that Aemma has had many problems with childbirth and our children may end up having to take the throne. But even if we have a son who must marry Rheanyra, I wish to have enough children that Runestone is guaranteed a Royce heir.”

Daemon could not fault his wife for her intelligence and clear understanding of the situation, but the discussion was not improving his difficulties in bed.

“I too wish for many children,” Daemon said. “As my lady wife, I shall confide a secret to you.” Daemon considered for a moment speaking of dragon dreams, but his wife was far too practical to believe in magic. Lord Stark had told him that even Northerners were discomforted at the idea of magic, associating it with wildlings and myth. So Daemon needed to give her a practical argument that would appeal to her practical mind. 

She was watching him curiously, her arms folded over her chest to hide it. Daemon blew out another candle so that the room was mostly dark as he sat next to her. He lowered his voice so that if any drunken louts were listening for the sounds of rutting, they would not be able to listen. 

“My brother is one who listens to too many voices and does not have a strong voice of his own. I fear that when he is on the throne too many people will seek to advance their own power and Viserys will not recognize what they do. Our family shall be in a precarious position, and to speak of it is treason. But I hope to have many strong sons who can defend Viserys’ heir if grasping lickspittles cling to him.”

“Can you not guide him?”

Daemon laughed. “If he would let me, I would. I would do anything for my brother. He is my family, but he is already turning away from me. Aemma fears he is jealous.”

“Of what? You are a second son with no inheritance.”

Again, Daemon could see how she was not intending to offend, and yet her words did come across offensively.

“I am the one grandfather trusted with Dark Sister. I have a dragon where his has died. I have a wife that I have every confidence will give me a half-dozen beautiful strong children, and he has struggled to have even one. I do not doubt that my brother loves me, and he will always be my family, but I have many fears. We shall navigate the dangers together, and I offer my sword and my life to you and our children.”

“What would you have us do?” Rhea was looking at him with concern now.

“Nothing,” Daemon said. “He is my brother, and one day he will be my king. But if he is too weak to defend his throne or if the vultures try to feed upon him, I would hope that you would’ve given me a dozen strong children that we can use to stand at his back to make sure that if anyone tries to feast upon our family we will descend on them with fire and blood. We will show them that the Targaryens will not be erased from history any more than the Royces or the Starks. Some families are strong enough to weather these storms, and I want you as my wife because I want a wife who is strong enough to weather them with me.”

“You make it sound as though our children will fly in on dragons and save the king.”

“I do not know what the future brings,” Daemon lied. He knew the horrors to come if he could not change fate.  He continued, “But with the magic of the Royces and the Targaryens together, I have no doubt that our children will be great warriors.”

“Our children or our sons?” She looked at him suspiciously. Sometimes Daemon felt ten and six, and sometimes he felt like he was on his fifth decade of life, and right now, he felt old.  After watching his grandparents, he could see how Alysanne tried to give her daughters everything because Jaehaerys would give them nothing.  Together, they had destroyed every female Targaryen with an obscene combination of indulgence and disrespect. He would not do that to his daughters.

“If I have a girl who wishes to fight I will teach her. My own mother was a dragon rider and was renowned for her talent with a sword. Do you think I would deny my daughters the right to do the same?”

Rhea frowned at him. “You are not what I expected from a prince.”

“Do not think of me as a prince. Think of me as your husband Daemon. And now we shall be family, and we shall be strong enough to weather dangers, no matter their source.”

The discussion and the idea of having strong adult children to stand at his side in the coming war was enough to ignite the fire of Daemon’s need. He ran his hand over Rhea’s stomach urging her to lay back. She resisted at first before following his guidance. Daemon gathered up the bottom of her shift, tugging it until she lifted her rump so that he could expose the dark triangle of hair between her legs. 

Daemon leaned down and rested his head against her stomach, closing his eyes so that he would not see the color, only feel her strong body under his. He ran his hand up her rib cage and over her rounded breasts. His fingers found her nipples and tugged at them, and she gasped and arched her back enough to lift Daemon. He chuckled and peppered kisses across her stomach as he pushed her shift up more so that her breasts were now exposed to the air. Daemon’s cock grew heavy and his balls started to ache as he kissed a trail north until his mouth found a dark nipple. He took it in his mouth, sucking while his hand worked her other breast, kneading it.

Rhea started to pant, her breath coming in heavy gasps that bounced Daemon as he lay on her chest. She was uncommonly strong. 

He pushed his knee between her legs, and she spread them obligingly before she started to wiggle. Her hands caught at him, pulling his hair and scratching his shoulder before she fisted the sheets and moaned low in her chest. 

Daemon reached down to feel between the folds of her womanhood, and his fingers came away wet. He brought the finger up to his lips and tasted the musk of her. She was a woman, rich and full, no child bride with a body not yet developed enough for breeding. No, she was strong. 

As if to prove his thoughts were true, Rhea tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled hard enough that she forced Daemon up so that their eyes met. Daemon saw the raw need and desire in her expression, and then he mashed their mouths together, sinking into the feeling of a strong body below his. He shifted so that his knees rested on the bed between her legs, and her legs wrapped around his waist, her grip tight. No doubt her proficiency came from riding a horse, and Daemon found he did enjoy the strength in a partner.

If anything, Rhea reminded him of Laena. There was a wantonness in her need, the strength in her legs and in the way she gripped him. Daemon broke their kiss and ran his teeth along the side of her neck before sucking hard enough to bruise skin.

Rhea’s hands scrambled at his back as if she were searching for something to grab on to and her legs tightened as she thrust up in some obscene imitation of a man’s rutting. Her unrestrained wantonness drove Daemon past all reason. He ripped the shift from her body, tossing it from the bed. He had intended to be slow and gentle; instead he grabbed his cock and lined up with her womanhood before thrusting in hard.

Rhea screamed, but not in pain. This was the same joyous shock as when she had ridden Caraxes. She threw her head back exposing the long column of her neck, and Daemon pulled out and thrust in again using her as hard as he’d ever used any whore. Her mouth fell open and beads of sweat gathered between her breasts, and Daemon leaned down to lick them up before thrusting in again and again. She was wet, wet between her legs but also where sweat dampened her hair and gathered on her face.

Daemon’s rhythm grew jagged as his own need grew close, but he was determined to make sure she enjoyed herself. If she were the sort of woman to speak bluntly in front of too many servants, then he would make sure that any stories she told of his performance would reflect his best work. He reached between their bodies and used his fingers to flick the flesh at the v where a woman’s body split, that first hint of her womanly opening. He flicked it with his finger, and Rhea’s back arched so much that Daemon nearly lost his grip on her sweaty body.

Giving his wife a wicked look, he flicked that tender piece of flesh again and again before he returned to thrusting hard, using her the way a stallion would use a mare, the way a ram would take a sheep. If Rhea wished to discuss their lovemaking in terms of animals in the field, then Daemon would oblige.

She was crying out with every thrust now, her face red, her legs curled around him. Daemon slammed into her so hard that their bodies slapped together with an almost obscene sound. With a cry and a pleasure so great that Daemon lost the ability to breathe, he came, spilling his seed inside. Daemon thrust a few more times, sinking his tool deep into her heat as she panted. She writhed, and then curled her hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer for a kiss.

Daemon had no doubt that she was a maiden. Her look of surprise when he split her with his cock was unfeigned, and he knew from his vision that even years of an empty bed had never resulted in illegitimate children. No, she was not one to loosen her legs for any man. Daemon felt a perverse pleasure in taking this practical woman and reducing her to a sweaty, panting mess who acted more like a whore than a lady. 

He collapsed on the bed next to her, their legs still tangled in their bodies cooling in the night air. Daemon used a foot to snag the bedding and pull it up and over them. “Does my lady still compare our pairing to that of rams and stallions?”

Rhea’s chuckle was low and breathy. “If so, my husband, mares and ewes are happy creatures.”

Daemon laughed. Perhaps Rhea was not everything he wanted in a wife. In truth, she had almost nothing he had yearned for before that cursed dream. But she would be his helpmate in a way his other wives in that other life never had been.

Laena had been passion and delight. She had fled her father’s expectations and had made it clear to Daemon that she would not indulge any from him. She had led their marriage, giving Daemon the Valyron bride he wanted and the partner he’d craved. But she’d given no thought to history. If she raised happy daughters and enjoyed her life, her needs were met. But Daemon had dreamed of more. After Laena had passed, he thought he’d had more with Rhaenyra.

However, he and Rhaenyra had too much fire for a happy marriage. There was passion between them, lust, need, heat. But there was also anger and frustration and demands. Neither of them had an ounce of practicality. 

Daemon had not been practical enough to see the long-term consequences of some of his more violent actions. And she had been too rash to understand the reins of power. She executed and mutilated men for speaking a truth that no one could deny—her children were bastards. No one could believe otherwise because she had chosen a lover as different from her husband and night from day. Her status as heir could not blind men to truth, but she had persisted in her foolishness. She believed that saying she was the heir was enough. Believing herself deserving of power did not translate into others giving her power, but she had never seen that. 

And Daemon wasn’t sure he had either. 

Oh, he understood how to make the common man love him, and he had tried so hard to teach Rheanyra the skill required to manipulate others. It was like a swordplay of emotions–parrying their selfishness or fear, feigning with a need, using a secret like a quick balestra before offering the opponent a place at his own side. Daemon understood it. He could disarm an opponent and turn them into his shield, his tool to command as he chose.

He had told her to make the dragonseeds lords, to find them matches and bind their loyalty to her through respect. If she had made herself one of them, they would have won the throne for her. But she was too set in her ways to do more than demand loyalty unconditionally without giving it in return. 

She and Daemon had been two impractical people clinging to each other when they had no other allies. And even then, she had turned on him. He dismissed his morbid thoughts. Right now, Rhaenyra was an infant in the arms of her mother or wet nurse. He swallowed a soul deep longing for her beauty, her fire, her wicked smile. Daemon had the more practical bride in Rhea. His ancestor promised that first man blood would strengthen their magic, so they would have a half-dozen, a dozen, two dozen children. And those children would be adults when the war came.

Daemon would ensure that they would all ride to dragons and when Otto Hightower tried to put his deviant half blood on the throne, Daemon was going to teach all of them the true meaning of the words fire and blood. Daemon would put Rhaenyra on the throne and tell her to do better than she had in the first life. Daemon curled an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer before he closed his eyes. He imagined all the ways he could save his family now that he had made better choices.