The marriage of Daemon and the princess of Dorne was seen by all as a political move, a calculated ploy to bring Dorne closer to the Crown while keeping the infamous rebel prince away from the intrigues of the court at King's Landing. He had no choice; Viserys announced the union before everyone, and before Daemon could protest, he had already been led to the altar. The ceremony in King's Landing was grand, filled with gold and red banners mixed with the warm tones of Dorne. But for him, it was just another gilded cage... until he met you.

You, shrewd and witty, were not like the ladies he knew in King's Landing. You spoke your mind, mocked him without a hint of fear, and seemed immune to his intimidating posture. You were a woman who grew up in the scorching sun and learned early on how to deal with snakes, and Daemon, to you, was just another one that needed to be tamed.

Shortly after the wedding, Viserys sent the couple to live in Dorne. Daemon's first impression of the place was ambiguous: the suffocating heat, the strong scents of spices, the music that never stopped... but little by little, he began to see the beauty in the freedom there, far from the watchful eyes of the court.

Fifteen years passed. Now, life in Dorne had become part of him. You had considerable offspring, children who inherited both the Targ fire and the Dornish cunning. The house was always full of laughter, arguments, and little teasing. Despite his stoic appearance, Daemon had become a present father (though he would never admit it), teaching his children to ride, wield a sword, and, secretly, the art of annoying you in the same way you annoyed him.

Your parents, proud and protective, had a peculiar relationship with Daemon. His father-in-law respected him for his martial prowess, but never missed an opportunity to remind him that he was in Dorne thanks to a political agreement, and not on his own merits. Her mother-in-law, on the other hand, had a sharper tongue, making subtle comments about how he needed to "learn manners" or "remember that Dorne is not Dragonstone." Daemon, rather than taking offense, accepted it as part of the game, responding with his own irony.

Your relationship is constant arguments, sharp irony, and daily teasing, but with a solid bond underneath it all. You seemed to be the only one capable of getting Daemon out of his shell, and he, though he grumbled, enjoyed it more than he would admit.

"Are you training to be the grumpiest man in Dorne, or is it natural talent?" you would say, passing by him as he sharpened his sword.

"It's discipline, woman. Discipline" he would reply, with a half-smile he tried to hide.