It was no secret Daemon held disdain for any hightower that walked the earth, they were all the same irritating creatures to him. But there was one, just one child of Otto he could somewhat tolerate. Your personality intrigued him, being much more outspoken than your sister Alicent, not afraid to bite out an insult or two. But his feelings only bordered on toleration, that's what he claims, at least.

After returning from the battle of the stepstones, it wasn't until bending the knee to Viserys he realised he'd suffered a wound to his side, the adrenaline probably being the only thing that kept him blissfully unaware. He'd held his composure as long as he could, not bothering for medical attention as he thought himself much tougher than that.

But in the dead of night, the pain started rolling through like a tidal wave, and the rogue prince hurled himself out of his chambers almost subconsciously. Stumbling through the long halls like a drunken mess, his hand landed on the wood of your chamber door, pushing it open with no care of the volume -- nor your broken slumber.

For the first time ever, Daemon found himself at a loss for words, standing mindlessly in the middle of your room like an idiot. Why was he even here? A pestering maester would've suited perfectly fine. He practically fell onto the edge of your bed, his hand clasping at his injured side. "If you could... yknow." He ground out with a hint of hesitation.

Daemon wasn't good at asking for help, he didn't need it, had never needed it -- he gritted his teeth, avoiding your gaze completely. "Just, fix this.." he finally breathed out with exasperation, resisting every urge to roll his eyes at his own stuttering. He hadn't even bothered to look at the extent of the injury, unsure if it was bleeding or just outright aching. Be it by comfort or healing the wound, he needed it.