(Daemon Sand’s POV)

To any who looked at him, Daemon would appear a sea of calm as he walked with his companion on the paths that led deeper into Sunspear’s Godswood. Yet, on the inside, Daemon was a torrent of emotions that, if he’d been told of a year before, would’ve been laughed off. He was Ser Daemon Sand, Bastard of Godsgrace, and Sworn Shield of Princess Arianne Martell, not some love-struck fool. However, that was exactly what he was, and it was because of the lady walking beside him: Alysanne Snow.

Lady Alysanne, whose skin was as pale as her name, was the first lady Daemon had been around, save the whore Prince Oberyn had taken him to for his first time, who made him so nervous. Yet, if one were to look at them, they would fail to see how. Daemon was a man of two and twenty, and had wooed and bedded dozens of ladies – and even a few men – in his life, yet Alysanne, a girl of four and ten, who had only flowered inside the last year, continually made him feel as if he was once more a child taking his first steps in the art of romance and seduction.

When he had first turned his eye toward the Northern bastard, Daemon had planned to make her nothing more than another notch in his belt. While not trueborn like some of his other conquests, Alysanne was one Daemon could see would mature into a rare beauty: one, in his eyes, unmatched in Dorne. Yet, for all that, his primary reason for showing interest in the baseborn daughter of Lord Eddard Stark was to spite her cousin, Ser Cregan Sand.

After learning of Alysanne’s reason for being in Dorne along with her brother, Beron Stark, and the tale of how that had occurred, Daemon had been enraged. Once more, in his eyes, Cregan had been forgiven for his actions while others – in this case, Tyene Sand – had been punished.

Ever since the Ironborn Rebellion, and the near-loss of Princess Arianne – something Daemon had long blamed Cregan for – Daemon had been intent on having the wild, untamed wolf exiled from Sunspear. Yet, for all his words to Prince Oberyn, Arianne, and others, that bastard wolf had wormed his way further into the graces of House Martell, and Daemon had set forth to seduce the northern girl for revenge.

However, in the days that followed her arrival in Sunspear, as Daemon watched Alysanne from a distance, learning what he could to earn his way into her sheets, his plans changed. The girl was attractive, and just beginning to blossom into something beautiful, but there was something special there, unworthy of being tainted by the simple need to bed her to spite her cousin. By the end of the first moon with the Northerners in Sunspear, Daemon had changed tack, and begun to speak with her simply to better know her, and at the very least befriend the winter rose that was blooming in the Dornish heat.

Late last year, Daemon had put his issues with Cregan to bed, and while he had hurt for several days after that fateful spar and brawl, Daemon was pleased that Cregan had taken longer to recover. Venting the anger that he felt toward the wolf allowed him to see that, while his anger toward Cregan was deserved, he had allowed it to fester and turn into loathing. Critically, the younger knight understood his flaws and wanted to correct them, so much so that he had turned to Daemon to help, which quelled the last vestiges of the rotting hate Daemon had held. Upon then learning of Cregan’s plans for Dustspear – and Daemon now knew and understood, beyond – had sparked a fire in Daemon as well.

He enjoyed the position he had as Princess Arianne’s sworn shield and the prestige it brought. However, the thought of battle, of testing his steel against others for fame and glory, called to him, in the same way it did, amusingly, to Cregan. He had wondered how he might find a way to accompany Cregan on the adventure, only for Arianne to order him to go and protect her paramour.

A year ago, Daemon would have been incensed to do so, but when they had sailed at the end of the last year to take Dustspear, Daemon had been ecstatic at the opportunity to taste battle. More so that Cregan had given him a position of importance in the forces; not because of his position as the Princess’ sworn shield, but because the younger knight respected his skill and counsel.

However, when Arianne had told Daemon he was to sail with Cregan, Daemon had found a part of himself reluctant. And that, he had come to understand while they had sailed, was because of Alysanne. The girl had, without him realising it until the eve of battle on Dustspear, slipped her way into his heart and he found himself wanting to grow closer to the young she-wolf. So much so that he had, even though it was not needed, spoken to Cregan for permission to pursue her.

Daemon could admit that he was surprised Cregan allowed it, going so far as to speak well of him to Alysanne’s brother and father. Daemon feared that Lord Eddard Stark would deny permission for Daemon to pursue Alysanne, yet no word had come from the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North for or against their potential union. Still, he worried what was developing with Alysanne would not be allowed as, in the eyes of Lord Eddard, he was nothing but a minor bastard in Dorne whereas Alysanne was, even if she was a bastard, his daughter.

While Prince Doran had granted permission for Daemon to begin courting Alysanne, he was on eggshells that either Lord Eddard would write and deny him the chance to woo Alysanne, or that he would somehow destroy what was slowly growing between them. Stories of his past exploits, given by ladies Daemon now offered no attention to as he sought out the Winter Rose at every opportunity, might sour her opinion of him. Thank the Gods that he had not seen any sign of that souring on his previous return to Sunspear, and Lady Alysanne had agreed to this walk with a warm smile, and now, when he glanced down, happily wore the gift he’d given her upon his return from the latest campaign in the Stepstones.

As his eyes took in the gift, Alysanne sensed his focus and turned her head. Those swirling grey eyes that drew him inward, locked on him, and a faint smile danced at the corners of her lips. “A-are you well, Ser Daemon?”

Daemon blinked, fighting to not lose himself in the depths of her enchanting grey eyes, and smiled. “I am, My Lady. More so for having moments such as these in your presence.” While he heard his words, which came out clearly, internally he panicked, fearing he’d been too forthright in how much he enjoyed her company.

Alysanne looked away, though Daemon could see her cheeks redden. “Y-you flatter, Ser Daemon.” As she spoke, Daemon saw Alysanne fiddling with his gift, and he barely held back a pleased smile.

Knowing that the battles in the Whores were unlikely to bring treasure of the value taken on Dustspear, Daemon had commissioned a piece before they had sailed. Collecting it had been, along with speaking to Staur and Jekar Blackwood, one of the first things he had done once they had returned, and then during the feast celebrating their safe return to Sunspear, he had gifted it to Alysanne. It had been about a quarter moon since then, and she still wore the gift, even at times when Daemon was not around.

Overall, it was a relatively simple piece, being a cuff bracelet made of highly polished steel engraved with silver and measuring about four inches. What made it stand out, and where Alysanne’s fingers were, was the central engraving. That was of the Stark sigil, but on the bracelet, it had been coloured black to match Alysanne’s hair, while the eyes were two smaller rubies. Those had come from Daemon’s claim of the initial bounty of Dustspear, and when combined with the black of the direwolf, were the two dominant colours of House Allyrion; the house from which his father came.

“I speak only the truth, My Lady,” Daemon replied, not wanting the silence or her nervousness to influence him. She lifted her head, but her eyes seemed unwilling to meet his. “You have a beauty that has never before graced the Dornish sands.”

From behind them, the faint, muffled sound of giggling could be heard. That meant Alysanne’s watchers, or at least the female ones of Wylla Manderly and Elia Sand had been close enough to overhear his words. Alysanne was not a trueborn, but she was a ward of Prince Doran’s, and her honour must be protected. The two girls were there for moral support, while the foursome of Stark guards with them acted as a reminder to Daemon of Alysanne’s value.

He doubted the Northern guards could stop him if they attacked, but that they placed such importance on Alysanne’s safety, even here in the Godswood of Sunspear with an unarmed knight of Dorne, offered Daemon some comfort. Throughout the campaign in The Whores, Daemon’s mind had returned to Alysanne, wondering if she was safe and well. knowing that her father and Prince Doran placed as much importance on her as they did on Beron Stark eased many of those fears.

There had been other ladies Daemon had wooed who had also had guards, yet having grown up in the palace, Daemon knew where to step, and when, to slip from sight of such escorts to steal a few moments with the lady. Or, if she was inclined, more. However, he had no intention of doing that with Alysanne, not now that he found his heart demanding she be protected and respected. If any threatened her honour and purity Daemon would be first in line to stand as her champion.

Alysanne smiled at his words, though she looked away again at the giggling of her friends even as her cheeks reddened further. As they continued walking in silence, Daemon feared again that he’d been too honest with his words. Yet, he knew he couldn’t withdraw them, nor would he as he spoke from his heart. However, because of the fear that he’d over-spoken, Daemon held his tongue and waited for Alysanne to resume their conversation.

This meeting was one of the few they’d managed since he’d returned to Dorne. While he had every intention of sailing again with Cregan, at least if Arianne asked him to, Daemon had duties to attend to that prevented him from spending as much time as he wished with the young wolf who’d stolen his heart. Still, whenever he had time free of duties and training, he’d given them to her, which was why they were walking once more through the Godswood of Sunspear.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Wh-when will you sail back to Dustspear?” she asked, not fully lifting their head as they reached the centre of the Godswood. Unlike the one in Winterfell – and, according to Alysanne, Beron, and the others from or who’d been to the North – every keep and holdfast – this Godswood lacked the weirwood as a heart tree. Instead, a large oak tree dominated the place.

Daemon placed little faith in the Gods, be they New or Old, but he would not deny that he preferred the Godswood in Sunspear to Winterfell. The way the face the Northerners had carved into the weirwood there followed you as you walked around the wood, to say nothing of the red sap making it look as though it was alive and bleeding, unnerved Daemon. Yet as he knew that Alysanne missed it desperately, that was why, if they wed, Daemon was prepared to return to Winterfell so that they could be married in the traditions of the North.

“Provided Princess Arianne asks me to sail with him once again, Cregan expects to depart in five, perhaps six days,” Daemon replied while smiling at her. “That is if Lady Asha has not killed him beforehand.”

Alysanne giggled at the jest, though Daemon felt his smile slip as he spotted Septon Dontar at the far side of the Godswood. The Septon was one of the most vocal critics of, as he saw it, barbarian influence in Sunspear. For a time, Daemon had shared that concern, though less for religious reasons than personal ones. Now, however, all he saw and heard whenever the Septon gave a sermon was a deranged old fool, unwilling to accept that anyone could worship Gods but his. That was, Daemon had noted, a sentiment that was growing within House Martell as Cregan’s worth grew and his influence spread.

Daemon did not fear the Septon would try something against Alysanne or the other Northerners, not when it would bring down the wrath of Prince Doran, but he was concerned that one of that man’s flock might. If they did, Daemon would join Cregan in ensuring that everyone responsible for such a heinous action received the justice they deserved, which would likely leave Ymir with a full stomach.

His thoughts turned to the idea that like Cregan, Alysanne might have the ability to skinchange. When Cregan had first explained and shown it to him, Daemon had been uncertain of how to react. However, after seeing the bond that Cregan shared with his beasts, and how it seemed to make Cregan stronger, Daemon wondered if Alysanne might share that ability and if, far into the future, their children might inherit it as well. “I share your amusement at your cousin’s predicament,” he finished, not wanting Alysanne to think he thought her wrong to laugh at Cregan’s situation. “Lady Asha is a fearsome warrior; one many in the yard know to stay clear of when in a foul mood. With a child to protect, her ferocity will only have grown.”

“Yes, I have seen that with Riona,” Alysanne replied, her gaze shifting to the Tower of the Sun, where in one of the highest rooms, the young Sunfyre eagle chick nested with its parents.

“How is the chick?” He asked, his thoughts turning to Rian, the bond the eagle shared with Cregan, and the idea that Alysanne might share that ability. If she did, it would be a boon to their future children, though if she didn’t he would be comfortable with it. She, however, might not be as, while they did not discuss such matters openly, she had shared her annoyance with the close bond Cregan, and her brother Robb Stark had with their beasts.

“Talon? He is well,” she replied, with a small smile, “at least from what I can see.”

Alysanne stopped and moved toward an empty and, Daemon noted, slightly isolated bench near the heart tree. Daemon sat beside her, though he made sure to, even if every fibre of his being wished to, not sit too close to avoid the appearance of anything untoward. “Rian and Riona are unwilling to allow any, even Princess Arianne, onto the balcony,” she continued. “From the books that Maester Caleotte has provided, Talon has two, perhaps three moons before he will leave the nest for good.”

Daemon nodded, pushing aside some annoyance that Rian would not be returning with them to Dustspear. The ability of Ymir and Kaa for scouting and tracking was something Daemon had seen in action, and he couldn’t help but imagine the advantages that came with being able to see a battlefield or the enemy’s holding from above. They’d done well in The Whores to escape the trap they’d sailed into, but Cregan had lamented that if Rian had been there, the loss of ships and men would’ve been reduced.

“Do… do you feel any connection with mother or chick?” He asked gently, making sure to keep his voice low so none overhead what he was saying. If anyone did hear him, they’d not catch his intended meaning, but it was safer to remain quiet when discussing such a matter.

“No more so than the Princess,” Alysanne replied, understanding the meaning behind his words. “It is possible that she or I might adopt one of them, but remember that Cregan did not discover Rian until he had left his nest.” Daemon nodded, aware of that. “Ymir was an unusual one, I admit, but he and Quicksilver are connected to my house.” She paused and looked down, her fingers brushing the direwolf on the bracelet. “I often find myself jealous of my brother and cousin’s beasts, and wonder if the Gods might someday grant me such a boon, though I know such notions are silly.”

“There is nothing silly about it, My Lady,” Daemon said quickly, not wanting her to fall into a state of melancholy. His hand moved, brushing against the edge of hers, though that was as far as he would go as he didn’t want to overstep. “The bond Cregan shares with Ymir, and I suspect your brother has with Quicksilver, is something to behold. Cregan is a skilled fighter, and we work well together, but with Ymir, it’s as if they understand each other in a way only siblings could.” He chuckled for a moment. “To be jealous of such a bond is entirely normal.”

“You are too kind, Ser Daemon,” Alysanne replied, her hand shifting to brush the back of his fingers. “And more patient with me than I should expect.” Her hand pulled back and she looked down. “I… I know others desire your attention.”

Daemon smirked, finding the way her face reddened as the sun caught it, made her a vision worthy of a Goddess. “Perhaps there are, My Lady, but they are not you.” Alysanne turned her head, letting him just catch sight of her mesmerising grey eyes. “For the honour and pleasure of your company, I would wait until the next Long Night, or travel across all of Essos if it would earn me a smile and your affection.”

Alysanne’s cheeks darkened so much they reminded Daemon of Arbor Red. That, however, was a poor comparison, as the wine from the Reach was a sickly sweet, unsatisfying thing. By comparison, Lady Alysanne was a beauty that would leave kings and emperors shocked and unable to find beauty in anything else.

“Yo-you should not say such things, Ser Daemon.”

“As I have said before, I speak only the truth, My Lady.” He paused and looked skyward. “If I speak falsely, may the Gods, New and Old, strike me down.” She chuckled at his oath, and he felt her hand slide further over his before he returned his attention to the angelic vision beside him. “I know not if we shall be wed, but until that day arrives, I pray nightly that the Gods grant me your hand in marriage. I swear that if we wed, then I will do all I can to keep you happy, safe, and warm in my hearth.”

A smile that would have him sail to defeat Volantis single-handedly, spread over her face. “I..” She paused her cheeks a shade of red so vibrant that Daemon found no words to describe it. “I feel the same,” she said quietly, and Daemon felt his heart stop. “I have written to my father, asking for him to grant us the right to wed, but I wake each day fearing that he will deny me. Or that, when word comes, you will lay dying on some battlefield far from my side.”

“I have no intention of dying so soon, My Lady,” He replied, his free hand lifting, planning to brush her face only from him to stop when he saw movement from her guards. “And there is a chance Princess Arianne will not send me again with Cregan.”

Alysanne laughed gently, a sound that, to Daemon, would warm the heart of an Other. “We both know that the Princess will send you. She is as enamoured with my cousin as I am with you. And it helps ease my pain to know you will protect each other, but, as awful as it sounds, I would rather lose my cousin than you.”

“I suspect your cousin will outlive us all, My Lady,” Daemon responded, finding an odd sense of truth in his words. “While young, he has skills many knights twice his age lack and a keen and sharp mind. Not just for battle, but for seeing things others might miss.” Something Daemon saw with Cregan’s plans for Dustspear and other islands in the Stepstones. Before he had begun courting Alysanne, Daemon had been content for chance to test his steel in battle, but now, as things progressed with her, and he saw what Cregan was building, he wondered if perhaps, in this new land that Cregan was forming, if he might find a way to be something more than a sworn shield. He would not be a lord, as he felt no one would acknowledge Cregan’s holdings, but he could help build something alongside Cregan that would be worthy of Alysanne’s hand. “Indeed, if not for his daring and bravery, we would both have died several times over.”

Alysanne’s smile grew, though there was a sadness in her eyes. “Yes, I remember the tales you and Ser Bronn have told the court during the feasts.”

Daemon chuckled and shook his head at the image that came to mind. “Bronn is many things, My Lady, but a knight is far from one of them. He lacks the… grace, one would expect from such a person.”

Alysanne giggled, and her face grew a shade brighter. “Yes, I recall his… descriptions of some of your heroics.”

Daemon could not help but chuckle as he remembered the way Bronn phrased things at the feast, and how many nobles had reacted with shock at his coarse descriptions. As Alysanne joined him in mirth, Daemon wondered if introducing the sellsword to Prince Oberyn was a wise choice.

He’d heard tales after the first feast, celebrating the taking of Dustspear, that the Prince had shown Bronn all the better brothels and whorehouses in the Shadow City. Something that, according to rumour, had resulted in Lady Ashara denying him her company for several days afterwards.

“Still, I am happy there is another with you and Cregan that you speak highly of. I pray daily to the Gods that both of you return, though I admit that while you were gone this time, I may have prayed harder for your return.” Daemon felt incredible to hear her say that, but he remained silent when she pulled her hand away and began tugging at the sleeve of her dress. “I…” she began as the hand slid up the sleeve, “I want to give you s-something. To h-help you think of m-me while away.” He watched as she pulled a small cloth from the sleeve, one that when it was placed in his palm, he felt was damp from sweat. “I know it is not much,” she explained as he moved to unwrap the cloth, “but I hope you will take this with you when you return to the Stepstones.”

As he unwrapped it, Daemon knew it was a token of appreciation, and he opened his mouth to thank her only to stop as he saw the pattern within. The cloth was white, but in the centre was the circle of red and black used on House Allyrion’s sigil, but where the opened hand would be, there now resided the direwolf of House Stark.

Daemon looked at it, even as his smile widened. It was a lovely merging of the sigils of their father’s houses, and for a moment Daemon swore he saw them sitting in a room, each adorned with a robe bearing this sigil while children played around their feet.

He pushed the idea to one side and returned his gaze to the young maiden whom he willingly allowed to steal his heart. “I shall treasure it dearly,” he said solemnly, “and whenever I gaze upon it, I shall remember these moments we have shared, and look forward to the next moment we might share.”

Alysanne leaned closer, a warmth filling her eyes. “I will await your safe return.”

She paused about halfway toward his face, and her eyes darted to her escorts. Daemon turned as well, wondering what had distracted her. However, before he could make out the group, he felt Alysanne’s lips touch against his cheek.

He stopped, frozen in shock even as Alysanne stood, her hand brushing against his. “Be safe, my Dornish knight,” she said softly before reaching her feet.

He turned, watching as she walked toward her escort. Wylla and Elia had rushed forward, giggling, and smiling while the Stark guards were glaring at him, hands on the hilts of their swords as if he had insulted the North by allowing Alysanne to kiss him.

Daemon stayed on the bench, watching as the guards closed around the trio of young ladies, and remained still as the group moved away. If the guards tried something, then he knew he could take them; even as unarmed and unarmoured as he was. Yet he had no intention nor desire to fight them, not when it would ruin this perfect moment and anger Lord Eddard and Prince Doran.

As they reached a turn in the path, Elia glanced back at him, smiling widely, which told Daemon she and Wylla were happy for Alysanne. As the group drifted from view, he raised a hand, placing it against his cheek, the other hand holding tightly the token Alysanne had granted him. “I will return safely to your side.”

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