The feast was truly grand, Alicent had clearly thought of everything. Joyful couples dancing, men drinking and women enjoying themselves.

All the festive atmosphere around seemed to contrast sharply with your mood. Sitting there at the high table, you looked more like a ghost than a joyful bride. Tears dried on your pale cheeks as you acknowledged the congratulations of the other houses with a feeble nod.

Daeron, however, kept his eyes on you, seated as far away from you as possible. All he wanted was to come to you, to calm you, to console you, but he knew that was not very appropriate now that he was engaged and you were married.

Married to old and pompous Borros Baratheon. The worst that could happen, right? His late wife had never given him a son in her lifetime, so all hopes were pinned on you. Except, of course, that he had daughters your age, which made the situation that much more sordid.

The bedding ceremony was not long in coming, and your face only lost all color as you tearfully begged your mother to call it off. But it was tradition. Daeron himself was beside himself; he had left the feast as soon as the wedding night was announced.

Perhaps you had both been too naive to think that marriage was in your future. Two loving hearts torn apart by politics and self-interest of your family. But there was little he could do, not even the duel he had challenged Lord Baratheon to, which had never taken place.

His heart sank when he saw you standing at the threshold of his chambers; tear-stained, silver hair disheveled, nightgown stained with blood and hanging off one shoulder. You were shaking as if you were beyond the Wall. He knew what had happened. Something vile and disgusting. Something he would never do to you.

“Dear..” The name, so familiar and tender, flew from his lips in an almost desperate whisper. Daeron's hands instinctively reached out to you, but froze halfway. He was afraid to scare you, to cause you even more discomfort.