Work Text:
King Daemon Blackfyre, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, thought that tending to his court was a dreadfully boring task he had been saddled with.
It was his duty, of course. One he wouldn’t- couldn’t afford to ignore no matter how heavy of a burden it was. His men and he himself had fought far too hard for his rightful throne only for him to shriek the seat now. How father and two of his elder brothers had died for it, in fact. That alone ought to make Daemon mindful of the crown finally returned to its rightful head atop his and his bloodline’s heads.
Still, even a king needed to let go ever so often.
That was what his knight was for.
The stairs creaked below his boots as Daemon ascended the tower he had chosen to retain his most precious treasure. It was the highest he could find in the entire Red Keep that had a room spacious enough still, even making sure to pick one with a window so his love may see the roads he loved so much. Even if he could no longer wander them, it would have been cruel to refuse him even the gaze.
A heavy door made from iron and wood creaked open as the king put his whole body behind pushing it. Allowing him entry into the room he had made sure to decorate with nothing but the finest of furniture and tapestries. His lavender eyes only took a second to find who he was looking for.
“Ser Duncan!” The king exclaimed happily. “My good Ser, I have missed you so terribly today.”
The man in question, grown ever larger with the proper amount of food and exercise Daemon had made sure to provide him with, turned towards him slowly. It gave Daemon more than enough time to witness the full beauty of him.
Strawberry blonde hair, a faded scar on his cheek hidden by the stubble of a beard, a tunic in the red of his own sigil with a black dragon embroidered on his chest. Daemon had half a mind to call for his royal painter to commit the sight in front of him to canvas. Such a venture would require allowing another soul to see his most beloved, and the thought alone gave him the urge to rip the evildoers' offending eyes for their sockets.
His knight was delicate. He could not risk anyone getting any ideas of leading astray ever again.
His Duncan loved Daemon more than anything in the world. The royal only needed to glance to the edge of the soft bed he’d made sure could fit them both comfortably for the knight to get the hint and scramble to sit upon it. He strode over to it in slow and deliberate steps, unclasping his cloak, setting down his crown, and slipping from his boots to make them both more comfortable as he went.
He sat in his lover’s lap, easily able to perch himself on a single meaty thigh of the man. He savoured the way their bodies slotted together like pieces of a puzzle as he slung his arms around him. The scent of flowers invaded his nose.
Daemon thought that it was only reasonable for people to be going mad over love. He himself would have if he’d been refused such a simple comfort. He pressed a kiss upon Duncan’s lips, humming as he went, and felt how he tensed up. Muscles going stiff, as though he needed to stop himself from doing something unwise.
He moved his hand to card through his hair. “Your king is in need of comfort, Ser.”
“My apologies, sire…”
“You seem so very strained; did something happen while I was away?”
Duncan shook his head no. But he avoided his eyes, flinching from his touch.
The king blinked. Once, twice, thrice, he could hear the nervous, hard beat of the other man almost through his ribcage. As if it brought him physical pain to gaze upon Daemon’s form.
“Oh, sweetling,” The other suddenly cooed, pity finding its way into his voice “, don’t tell me you still feel guilty about all that has happened? I already told you that it was not your fault that you were deceived the way you were. All has been forgiven.”
Poor Duncan was always so terribly insecure; he needed Daemon to assure him almost every single day that all was fine. One should have expected such a thing. Even if he disagreed, most people would feel shame after having chosen another side over their own love. Even if it was just briefly, his treasure always beat himself up over it. Not that he complained. He would assure his love as often as he would need to without ever complaining a bit. What he wouldn’t do for love…
Once he had the lives of the falseborn usurpers claiming his throne in his hand, it had been painfully easy to convince his knight to swear his loyalty. Daemon knew how soft-hearted Ser Duncan was, even when it came to the likes of them. A promise to stay by his side was a small price to pay for them being allowed safe escort to the wall. And his honour alone did more than enough to keep him by his side.
His knight may have fought for the red dragon in a fit of misplaced stupor, but he had learned his lesson more than enough since then. There was no need for him to keep feeling in such a way.
Daemon disliked thinking of the people who had once nearly seduced him away. He shuddered to think what might have happened had he not apprehended his treacherous kin and captured his beautiful knight. So he decided to chase such unpleasant thoughts from his mind once in for all.
“My sweet knight,” He asked once again, nudging his hand below Duncan's chin to make him look up, “What burdens your mind?”
The lovely ocean blue of his eyes darkened into a muddy pond. “Nothing, sire. All is fine.”
“Are you unhappy?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I do not, Your Grace.”
The king's eyes flicked to the window, curtains blowing in the wind like a frame to the painting of the landscape. “Do you miss your squire?”
At that, he remained quiet. Daemon hummed. It did not matter anyway.
As long as Duncan remained in these chambers, he would be his. And that was enough for the king to be satisfied.