The Dance of Storm and Sun, Part I [Althea]

Perhaps he should have just kept his mouth shut.

Upon inviting Althea to drink with him and keep up pretenses, he had provoked more of the rage she struggled to confine within her. When she had finished chewing and swallowing her food, she licked her hands and cleaned them on the tablecloth, in manners unbefitting a lady of her status. To that, Daemon said nothing. Then, she glanced at him, and his wine. The red swirled within his silvery goblet, and for a moment Daemon suspected she meant to snatch it from him or splash it into his face as an act of defiance. No, she possessed more grace than that, at least. Instead, she filled her goblet near to the brim, purposefully aiming to drink double Daemon’s amount. To this, Daemon still said nothing.

But then she spoke quietly to her new husband. He leaned in closer, face almost apprehensive as he awaited the next stubborn retort she would throw his way. She didn’t disappoint. Her fierce statements and his inexperience with woman just left him wide-eyed. Not his lady, not happy, not comfortable, and not pretending. She was definitely ready to slit his throat, he felt. And her command – to stop pretending or forcing politeness when his only real duty was to bed her – well, she had worded it a tad differently. Daemon slowly stiffened in his chair, leaning back away from her and lifting his goblet to his lips.

Well, this will be a pleasant marriage, he thought sarcastically, tipping his goblet as he took gulp after gulp and drained it completely. He carefully placed it down on the table, then stared out at the merriment unfolding before him. Countless men and women, basking in the joy of this union, and on the far edge of the room the two whom they gathered for shared none of their happiness. Daemon took a deep breath and sighed, filling his cup in a conscious effort to drown both his and Althea’s sorrow through drink, but also to subconsciously outdo her.

“Very well then. I would very much like it if we could be happy, but if you’re so intent on what doesn’t have to be a dismal future...well, we have our wine, don’t we?” He jested, though no soft-hearted smile reached his lips. He took another great swig from his cup. At least his wife was beautiful. If he died on his wedding night, better at the hands of a black-haired and black-hearted beauty than by anyone else. And he’d be drunk, too. Worse ways to go, he reasoned.

ASHARA MARTELL

Daemon barely had time to reach for the pitcher before Althea’s next attack. His hand wrapped around the cold handle and his face turned to look his wife in the eye, her pupils fueled by fire. She clearly wanted to resist her new role to the very end, and had no intentions of even trying to adapt to it. She would choose to verbally skewer Daemon, who just continued to listen to her with a cold and almost apathetic stare. He bet she hated that even more, and he wasn’t sure if that spite pleased him or worried him further.

“Oh my, it seems you are the naïve one, my beautiful wife,” he stated matter-of-factly, bringing the pitcher closer to himself. Though he kept his voice soft and deep, Althea could still hear him over the sound of poured wine. “I’m here to do my duty. The only thing I believe is that this will end however we wish it to. But I believe your thoughts on that are abundantly clear, but I don’t know why you would condemn yourself to wallowing in sorrow and anger. Oh, and please, don’t be so hasty to have me stuff my face. We’re married now, and you seem to be doing that just fine for the both of us. It looks like we’ll work out together just fine.”

He smirked at his retort, a little too pleased with himself for participating in the chaotic dance his wife wanted. He didn’t address her baseless comments on being unwanted. Daemon’s duty was not to win the minds and hearts of fair ladies everywhere, after all. His intention that night was not even to win Althea’s heart, though doing so would certainly make his life easier. He washed his smirk away with another great chugging of wine, then grabbed his own leg of honeyed lamb and ripped its tender meat with his teeth. The food and wine would be the only sweet things that night – that much was clear. Althea raised her goblet up high, and onlookers mimicked her behavior in complete ignorance of the duel between the newlyweds. Daemon swallowed his food and lifted his almost finished goblet as well. He could play this game better than her, he reasoned, for she gave into her emotions like a fire so voracious it consumed itself.

“To our marriage,” he chimed in after his wife, loudly and with a facetiously prideful tone that resonated throughout the hall. Men and women alike cheered, and laughter rang about them. Daemon’s father gave him a drunken and overly ecstatic glare, and Daemon just nodded at him without any indication of his own displeasure. After finishing his second cup, he slowly glanced out the corner of his eyes back to his wife. Now, what’s your next move, or are you done playing?

ASHARA MARTELL

She laughed. Daemon fired back with sweetened mockery and she laughed. The golden cloak of House Baratheon rode down her shoulders to reveal the fair, unblemished skin of her neck and collarbone. Even to a controlled man like Daemon, that sight proved alluring, for indeed Althea was beautiful. He had that thought floating around his mind ever since he laid eyes on her earlier that day. But as the seductive northern vixen softly chuckled next to him, Daemon felt as if he had waltzed into a situation in which Althea had control. For the sake of their game, and now for his own competitive desire to win against his rebellious wife, Daemon would not permit that.

Althea took the pitcher from Daemon’s side before he could fill his third cup. She admitted he did well in their little sparring match, making it clear that neither of them intended to become subservient to the other. Daemon uncharacteristically chortled, amused by her attempts at a new smooth-sounding route to unnerving him. Poor Althea. She still had much to learn about the cold fury that sat beside her. Indeed, Daemon was more than the calm and capable man that Lord and Lady Karstark wanted for Althea. Daemon was – and then lukewarm hands laid themselves in between his legs. Althea’s eyes raised to meet Daemon’s, and the newly made husband shifted his face to look upon her fully.

He just looked at her for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows raised in a slight mix of surprise and appreciation. After what he had seen, Daemon had no reason to consider his new wife as anything but gutsy. She clearly didn’t shy from methods that got her what she wanted. Too bad it would not work out for her that night, in the end. Despite his inexperience with women, Daemon never backed down from psychological play, and Althea’s attempt at introducing sexual advances to dissuade his confidence would not prevail.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and Daemon’s eyebrows lowered as his features relaxed. “Now now, sweetling,” he whispered, leaning closer to her face. “The bedding’s later.” His arm reached past her raven-black hair and stole back the pitcher, and he leaned away from her to fill up his third cup. “Don’t tell me you’ve already found me irresistible. It would be a shame if all that proud talk from before was but a ruse.”

ASHARA MARTELL

Daemon’s confidence in his mind and insistence on competing against Althea’s sexual advances did little to dissuade her. If anything, Daemon had, in his ignorance, fallen right into a position he would soon regret. As he filled his goblet with more wine, Althea’s hand stayed in between his legs. Since she hadn’t removed it in response to his teasing, Daemon now felt himself on the defense. He had no idea what to make of that moment, nor of her. And their little ‘dance’ was about to get a bit more complicated.

Two fingers walked up Daemon’s bulge and tugged at his belt. He felt his body jerk toward her, wine spilling over the sides of his goblet and splashing onto the tablecloth. He instantly set it and the pitcher down, but his eyes looked at Althea worriedly. This was not the reaction I expected. It seems I’ve only emboldened her. He felt her two fingers dig in, pulling the belt and top of his pants further away from his waist. Then, her skin met his. He could feel her touch him, and the sensation sent a sudden jolt through his body. And her touch was colder than he would’ve liked.

“Are you insane?” he whispered, some irritation managing to surface. His shocked expression contorted into an almost frightened one, and he leaned back closer to Althea’s face. Did she just not care that their parents looked on, with vassals and servants and people Daemon didn’t even know? His heart began to beat faster. This time, Althea clearly held control of the situation...along with other things.

Now, her turn. She leaned in close to him. His nose brushed against her hair, and he could smell its strong and sweet fragrance. He could smell her, too, and even the wine that hung to her lips as well as his own. She whispered in his ear, mocking him, and then even licking its tip. The sudden, wet touch sent another jolt surging through him. That was enough. Daemon would not sacrifice his public appearance for the sake of playing cat and mouse with his new wife. His right hand reached down her wrist, just near his belt, and tried to tug her hand out.

“That’s enough of—“

And then she bit down, while Daemon was mid speech. As if out of instinct, he suddenly bit down himself and grit his teeth, preventing himself from an instant shout from the pain. But he winced, and his mouth clenched with such force that he thought his teeth would shatter. No more playing, no more cold and stoic confidence. He glared at her now, fully taken aback by her recklessness at the table.

“The hell are you doing!?”

ASHARA MARTELL