[ In the weeks that passed since Éowyn and Daario had returned to Edoras - both injured but whole; and both irrevocably changed by the full events of that night and following morning; he's spent the majority of his time burying his focus into the various tasks required of him to prove that he would be worthy of joining the ranks of the other riders of the Mark. Granted, his successful rescue of Éowyn did about half of the work for him, considering their gratitude; but that didn't mean he did not also have to prove his worth as a fighter and a skilled rider.
It was a task swiftly accomplished, given his lifetime of experience when it came to fighting and survival. And soon the days passed by with him being given different duties; joining the rest of the soldiers on their patrols, slaying parties of Orcs that wandered too close to their territories.
It was good, exhausting work; enough to occupy his mind and his restless body during the hours when the sun was in the sky; after nightfall however, was another story entirely. Plagued by dreams of their stolen moment together, Daario sometimes got very little sleep - if any at all. At night, there was nothing to distract himself from the memory of her - her body, the intensity of her kiss, the sounds she made when he'd managed to coax out her pleasure; and her lips against his skin - her touch invaded his thoughts as if she'd placed a spell on him. Though he knew he hadn't.
He was just a man who wanted what he couldn't have. And even as the ache for her seemed to grow in intensity every day that passed; he could never bring himself to consider leaving. It wasn't in his nature - stubborn as he was.
The few interactions they did have were polite, civil; and completely lacking in anything of substance. His gaze followed her when he knew no one else would see him looking; but as far as he could tell, she'd been successful in shutting him out.
After a day spent helping train a new horse for the rigors of battle, Daario leads the mare back toward the stables; feeling the ache in his muscles and focusing on that - it was far more preferable than the ever present ache in his heart; one for which he had no solution, and there could be no comfort to be given. He stops somewhat abruptly at the entrance of the stables, catching sight of Éowyn tending to one of the horses. ]
I didn't expect you'd be here at this hour.
[ It's all he can manage, though the words feel like they hold a far greater weight; just based on the tone he speaks with - surprise, softness, and the yearning that is echoed in his gaze. He leads his his into it's stable and closes the gate; taking a few steps toward Éowyn. He leaves a bit of a distance between them initially; unaware of how welcome she will find his presence at the moment. ]
[There is always work to be done. That is the saving grace of being the lady of a high court: there is always more to be done, always servants to be overseen and tasks to be managed, wounds to bind and strategies to consider, whispers in the King's ears to be addressed and avoided, and if at any point that work should run dry, well, it has become all the more clear since her attack that she must train, that she must keep the blades sharpened and recover the strength lost to her own injuries. There is always work to be done, and she retreats into it, as she has done before: distracts herself with duty, and tries to exhaust herself, to shorten the dark watches of the night.]
[But the nights do come, and all that she had feared with them: for as lonely as she had been before, it is nothing to how she feels now, and she has wept more than once. She wept when she scrubbed the stain out of her skirt the day after their tryst, for one; and, weeping, determined that she would bear it the only way she could, with the cold armour of noble dignity.]
[So that is what she has done. She has avoided him, wherever she can: has made herself scarce or busied herself with other work when she sees him, has built up her armour into a fortress, not meeting his eyes lest she should remember the longing she saw in them, and answer it with her own. She does not trust herself in his presence, remembering all too well the warmth of his arms around her and the temptation to seek that embrace out again - and so she does not allow herself the chance for a second weakness, does not ever allow herself to forget that they are watched. She ensures that they are watched. It hurts, an ache which breaks through the numbness she had constructed for herself, but it is better to be safe than to risk the kingdom to the foolishness of her heart.]
[But the memory has not faded, and nor has the temptation, and when she hears his voice behind her, she stiffens, her hands stilling where they work the brush against her mount's sweat-dark flank.]
[It is several seconds before she turns, slowly, biting down on the inside of her cheek. The urge to step towards him, to touch him, is almost unbearable. The urge to bolt is almost as strong. She does neither, but nor does she withdraw: clearing her throat, she manages to find her voice.]
I went for a ride to clear my head.
[Her eyes are drawn to his, which already feels dangerous, somehow. There is too much of a connection even in that. And they are alone here, as far as she can tell, with only the horses to see what passes between them, and there are so many things that could pass between them, if only...]
[ This is the first time they've been alone together in weeks. And it's felt like much longer than that. Daario has never been a man of great or noble restraint; and that is evidenced by the way he takes a few steps closer to her almost the moment her eyes meet his. But he stops himself, one hand making a fist, blunt fingernails curling into his palm sharply enough to distract him - to remind him to stay where he is. To not take her into his arms. That minor bit of pain is nothing compared to the pain he feels in having to keep this distance from her.
It's a physical pain, like his nerves are frayed from the effort of it - of holding back all these weeks; all the things he's wanted to say to her; the times he's nearly gone to seek her out, the thoughts of slipping quietly into her chambers after night has fallen - he knows how to do so without being seen. But he won't. After the way things had ended between them the last time they were alone together; he doesn't think she'd want that. And there was always the risk involved, yes, but Daario's entire life had been filled with risk - he'd learned to navigate it with relative adeptness; and it was because of that that he wasn't deterred when he should be, by the risk being with her presented.
There are a variety of responses he could give when she speaks. Ultimately, he goes with the one that might keep her here a moment more - prevent her from immediately fleeing his presence. ]
Why didn't it work?
[ He asks softly. If riding could clear his head, that's all he would be doing; from sun up to sun down. That's what he did most days and still it did little to keep this thoughts from constantly straying to her. It would be easier, he knows; if he didn't see her each day at a distance. But the thought of leaving and never seeing her again was more unbearable. Either way, he couldn't have her. At least if he remained, he could see that she was alright. Protect her at a distance, should the need ever arise.
He saw the way Wormtongue looked at her. Knew the King's health was failing rapidly each day. There were many problems which needed solving and they should not all fall to her. If she would let him help, he would in a heart beat.
But perhaps after their tryst, she would not allow herself to even confide in him; to consider him a friend - someone who had her back, at the very least; who would support her with the burdens she carried. Perhaps he'd ruined all of that the moment he'd kissed her, pulled her into his lap; gave into the desire to be with her in whatever way he could. ]
[She is quiet for a long moment, trying to find an answer. There is nothing that feels both truthful and safe to say: it would be unfair to them both to say that her loneliness is keener for his presence, that she can find no solace in solitude any more, that when riding she found her mind too easily turning to escape. At length, she sighs, and elects for truth over safety.]
Because I have returned to find my troubles waiting, and my longing has come to stand before me.
[Already, the armour is cracked: there is no distance in her tone, and there is an honesty in the emotion of it, in the way her eyes linger on him. It would be wisest to send him away, or to leave herself; to spare them both this dangerous closeness, and the cutting ache of self-restraint. It would be easiest to give in, to close the few paces still between them, fling her arms around him and give up all care for wisdom. She can bear to do neither, and so she stays where she is, the brush in her hand, her chest tight and her breathing a little too shallow, until her horse snorts and sticks his head against her ear, making her jump.]
[Her cheeks flushed, she clears her throat, grabbing the stallion's bridle and turning his head away.]
Some things are not so readily dispelled, I suppose.
[ When she speaks of longing he nearly heaves a great sigh, both relief and frustration combined. He doesn't, however; but he does drop his gaze for a moment with a breath; as if he was about to say something but decided against it. At least she's looking at him now similar to how she did that night - without the solid steel walls up, her gaze more open than he's seen in weeks. The sight of which doesn't help to strengthen his resolve to remain where he is, of course.
When her horse causes her to start, it jolts him out of that as well; at least a little. But then the flush of her cheek draws his gaze; and that gaze wanders the contours of her face - remembering how it had felt beneath his touch. And then, more dangerously; his eyes are inevitably drawn to her mouth - and with that comes the memory of her lips, warm and bruising against his during that first kiss.
He doesn't like to think about their last kiss, the one that had felt final; a goodbye he still refused to accept. ]
I suffer that same longing.
[ He admits without guarding the way his gaze takes her in, the raw emotion visible across his features as he takes a step closer to her. ]
You have avoided me successfully these past few weeks. You are much better at this than I am.
[ The words are absent of the teasing humor his tone usually takes on. There are dark circles beneath his eyes; and instead of the easy smile he typically wears; he looks tired, worn. ]
Would it do any good to tell you how often I think of you? How much I want to take you in my arms right now; the pain it causes me to refrain from doing so?
Would it do any good? To know that you suffer for my sake, that you feel it as keenly as I do, that if I allowed it, you would have me in a moment, and all that it would cost would be everything?
[Her laugh is low and bitter, and she shakes her head, but her eyes return to his and she cannot turn her gaze away. He looks so worn and weary, and it aches in her chest, a feeling that is guilt as much as sorrow. It is bad enough to think of how this pains her, but her pain is her own to bear: to know for certain that it wounds him, too, is a far deeper cut.]
No. No, it would do no good.
[Her eyes dart past him, to the door, and then to and fro, as though to check one more time that they are alone. Then, with a speed that aims to outpace doubt, she reaches out to grab his sleeve, drawing him towards her mount's stall. It will not make their conversation entirely private, but it may go some way towards it. (And that thought, predictably, comes with a thrill of both excitement and dread at what privacy could portend - but she does it anyway, because in the moment, she cannot help herself)]
[Pulling the stable door closed behind them, she lets go of his wrist and turns to face him, her expression no longer guarded, mirroring his own. Her voice is low and serious, but comes in a rush nonetheless, the words falling over one another in their haste to be spoken.]
I am not better at this than you. I only know more keenly what might be lost, by failing. And yet I have thought of you endlessly, and each time your name has been raised, it has struck me to the core, and each time I have seen you, I have wanted you nearer, and I have wept for it, and I have not slept for want of you, and it is driving me mad. I have never felt loneliness so keenly, and I had resigned myself to loneliness before you came, I have borne it since my brother rode out to fight, but I cannot bear this.
I cannot bear this, Daario. [Her eyes search his face. She has stepped away from him, her hand no longer at his arm, and yet she cannot seem to draw back more than a little way, as though there is something still binding her, drawing her in. There is a lump in her throat, treasonous and unwanted.] To have you is to risk your life, and my lord's safety, and all the kingdom, and all that I love. To turn from you should be so simple a thing, and yet...
[She lets out a long, shuddering breath and lets her hands fall to her sides.]
Do not tell me of the pain it causes you. I am no less wounded. It serves no end to dwell on pain, unless we can answer it.
[ The words rush out on a slightly shaky breath. It's the most honest thing he'd said in weeks. To everyone else he's interacted with, he's been a shell of himself; performing, essentially, the role of the man he was before all of this began - lively, charming, bold, capable. He's kept up enough of the facade for others not to catch on, and he does so out of necessity. It would do no good for anyone to notice his pining, his ache.
Certainly not under the ever watchful gaze of Wormtongue; who, although Daario has spent no further time interacting with Éowyn since that night after their ride; still scrutinizes his every step, listening in to his conversations when he thinks Daario is unaware. But he's always aware; because he has to be.
And she's right, to be with him is to risk everything she has. The risk to himself, his own life; means less because of how familiar risk is to someone like Daario. He can navigate it well enough, as evidenced by the past few weeks; agonizing as they have been. He knows that what he wants from her is not something she can give; and yet he wants it still.
It brings him some comfort in the knowledge that she is no less affected by this than he. That she aches as he does. Though it doesn't solve anything. ]
I don't know. [ He answers truthfully, uselessly; alone in the stall with her he's far too distracted by her proximity to come up with any logical solutions; if any actually even exist. All he knows is that when her hand drops from his arm, he wants it back; wants her touch so desperately that he acts purely from that desire - disregarding every risk and every warning and every reason why he should not do so, he steps closer to her and lifts his hand to frame her face. He swallows against the thickness building in his throat, his gaze raw and pleading. ]
I don't know how to be near you without touching you. [ His fingertips brush down along her cheekbones to her jaw, an unsteady sigh leaving his chest; his voice coming out in a quiet sort of rasp. ] I'm not strong enough. [ His gaze darkens as he shifts closer to her. ] It isn't fair of me to ask it of you, but you have to leave. You have to leave me here, or I will not be able to stop.
[Her heart skips in its rhythm, stutters a moment before setting up a faster tattoo. His hand is hot and rough against her cheek, and it feels to her that it burns like a brand, that its heat passes over into her and sets her cheek aflame. Her eyes meet his, and she could not help it if she wanted to - no more than she can help the answering desire in her own look.]
[It seems to her that she has forgotten how to breathe. Standing so close, he seems to take on a strange power, an intensity of presence, as though he is somehow the only real thing in the world. This is exactly what she has been striving to avoid, what she should not allow. At the same time, it is all she has wanted for weeks: his touch, his closeness, the look in his eyes that says she need not be alone.]
[Her hand comes up to cover his, and it trembles a little. Her voice is barely a whisper when she echoes his words.]
I am not strong enough.
[And she gives in to that pull, unable to prevent herself: she moves closer, almost without knowing it, until they are nearly chest-to-chest, until she can feel his breath unsteady against her cheek. Shame washes over her, but it is not nearly as strong as that magnetic draw of his touch.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2023-05-05 12:16 am (UTC)It was a task swiftly accomplished, given his lifetime of experience when it came to fighting and survival. And soon the days passed by with him being given different duties; joining the rest of the soldiers on their patrols, slaying parties of Orcs that wandered too close to their territories.
It was good, exhausting work; enough to occupy his mind and his restless body during the hours when the sun was in the sky; after nightfall however, was another story entirely. Plagued by dreams of their stolen moment together, Daario sometimes got very little sleep - if any at all. At night, there was nothing to distract himself from the memory of her - her body, the intensity of her kiss, the sounds she made when he'd managed to coax out her pleasure; and her lips against his skin - her touch invaded his thoughts as if she'd placed a spell on him. Though he knew he hadn't.
He was just a man who wanted what he couldn't have. And even as the ache for her seemed to grow in intensity every day that passed; he could never bring himself to consider leaving. It wasn't in his nature - stubborn as he was.
The few interactions they did have were polite, civil; and completely lacking in anything of substance. His gaze followed her when he knew no one else would see him looking; but as far as he could tell, she'd been successful in shutting him out.
After a day spent helping train a new horse for the rigors of battle, Daario leads the mare back toward the stables; feeling the ache in his muscles and focusing on that - it was far more preferable than the ever present ache in his heart; one for which he had no solution, and there could be no comfort to be given. He stops somewhat abruptly at the entrance of the stables, catching sight of Éowyn tending to one of the horses. ]
I didn't expect you'd be here at this hour.
[ It's all he can manage, though the words feel like they hold a far greater weight; just based on the tone he speaks with - surprise, softness, and the yearning that is echoed in his gaze. He leads his his into it's stable and closes the gate; taking a few steps toward Éowyn. He leaves a bit of a distance between them initially; unaware of how welcome she will find his presence at the moment. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-05-05 12:44 am (UTC)[But the nights do come, and all that she had feared with them: for as lonely as she had been before, it is nothing to how she feels now, and she has wept more than once. She wept when she scrubbed the stain out of her skirt the day after their tryst, for one; and, weeping, determined that she would bear it the only way she could, with the cold armour of noble dignity.]
[So that is what she has done. She has avoided him, wherever she can: has made herself scarce or busied herself with other work when she sees him, has built up her armour into a fortress, not meeting his eyes lest she should remember the longing she saw in them, and answer it with her own. She does not trust herself in his presence, remembering all too well the warmth of his arms around her and the temptation to seek that embrace out again - and so she does not allow herself the chance for a second weakness, does not ever allow herself to forget that they are watched. She ensures that they are watched. It hurts, an ache which breaks through the numbness she had constructed for herself, but it is better to be safe than to risk the kingdom to the foolishness of her heart.]
[But the memory has not faded, and nor has the temptation, and when she hears his voice behind her, she stiffens, her hands stilling where they work the brush against her mount's sweat-dark flank.]
[It is several seconds before she turns, slowly, biting down on the inside of her cheek. The urge to step towards him, to touch him, is almost unbearable. The urge to bolt is almost as strong. She does neither, but nor does she withdraw: clearing her throat, she manages to find her voice.]
I went for a ride to clear my head.
[Her eyes are drawn to his, which already feels dangerous, somehow. There is too much of a connection even in that. And they are alone here, as far as she can tell, with only the horses to see what passes between them, and there are so many things that could pass between them, if only...]
I am... not entirely certain it worked.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-05 03:59 am (UTC)It's a physical pain, like his nerves are frayed from the effort of it - of holding back all these weeks; all the things he's wanted to say to her; the times he's nearly gone to seek her out, the thoughts of slipping quietly into her chambers after night has fallen - he knows how to do so without being seen. But he won't. After the way things had ended between them the last time they were alone together; he doesn't think she'd want that. And there was always the risk involved, yes, but Daario's entire life had been filled with risk - he'd learned to navigate it with relative adeptness; and it was because of that that he wasn't deterred when he should be, by the risk being with her presented.
There are a variety of responses he could give when she speaks. Ultimately, he goes with the one that might keep her here a moment more - prevent her from immediately fleeing his presence. ]
Why didn't it work?
[ He asks softly. If riding could clear his head, that's all he would be doing; from sun up to sun down. That's what he did most days and still it did little to keep this thoughts from constantly straying to her. It would be easier, he knows; if he didn't see her each day at a distance. But the thought of leaving and never seeing her again was more unbearable. Either way, he couldn't have her. At least if he remained, he could see that she was alright. Protect her at a distance, should the need ever arise.
He saw the way Wormtongue looked at her. Knew the King's health was failing rapidly each day. There were many problems which needed solving and they should not all fall to her. If she would let him help, he would in a heart beat.
But perhaps after their tryst, she would not allow herself to even confide in him; to consider him a friend - someone who had her back, at the very least; who would support her with the burdens she carried. Perhaps he'd ruined all of that the moment he'd kissed her, pulled her into his lap; gave into the desire to be with her in whatever way he could. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-05-05 05:03 pm (UTC)Because I have returned to find my troubles waiting, and my longing has come to stand before me.
[Already, the armour is cracked: there is no distance in her tone, and there is an honesty in the emotion of it, in the way her eyes linger on him. It would be wisest to send him away, or to leave herself; to spare them both this dangerous closeness, and the cutting ache of self-restraint. It would be easiest to give in, to close the few paces still between them, fling her arms around him and give up all care for wisdom. She can bear to do neither, and so she stays where she is, the brush in her hand, her chest tight and her breathing a little too shallow, until her horse snorts and sticks his head against her ear, making her jump.]
[Her cheeks flushed, she clears her throat, grabbing the stallion's bridle and turning his head away.]
Some things are not so readily dispelled, I suppose.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 12:38 am (UTC)When her horse causes her to start, it jolts him out of that as well; at least a little. But then the flush of her cheek draws his gaze; and that gaze wanders the contours of her face - remembering how it had felt beneath his touch. And then, more dangerously; his eyes are inevitably drawn to her mouth - and with that comes the memory of her lips, warm and bruising against his during that first kiss.
He doesn't like to think about their last kiss, the one that had felt final; a goodbye he still refused to accept. ]
I suffer that same longing.
[ He admits without guarding the way his gaze takes her in, the raw emotion visible across his features as he takes a step closer to her. ]
You have avoided me successfully these past few weeks. You are much better at this than I am.
[ The words are absent of the teasing humor his tone usually takes on. There are dark circles beneath his eyes; and instead of the easy smile he typically wears; he looks tired, worn. ]
Would it do any good to tell you how often I think of you? How much I want to take you in my arms right now; the pain it causes me to refrain from doing so?
no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 03:58 pm (UTC)[Her laugh is low and bitter, and she shakes her head, but her eyes return to his and she cannot turn her gaze away. He looks so worn and weary, and it aches in her chest, a feeling that is guilt as much as sorrow. It is bad enough to think of how this pains her, but her pain is her own to bear: to know for certain that it wounds him, too, is a far deeper cut.]
No. No, it would do no good.
[Her eyes dart past him, to the door, and then to and fro, as though to check one more time that they are alone. Then, with a speed that aims to outpace doubt, she reaches out to grab his sleeve, drawing him towards her mount's stall. It will not make their conversation entirely private, but it may go some way towards it. (And that thought, predictably, comes with a thrill of both excitement and dread at what privacy could portend - but she does it anyway, because in the moment, she cannot help herself)]
[Pulling the stable door closed behind them, she lets go of his wrist and turns to face him, her expression no longer guarded, mirroring his own. Her voice is low and serious, but comes in a rush nonetheless, the words falling over one another in their haste to be spoken.]
I am not better at this than you. I only know more keenly what might be lost, by failing. And yet I have thought of you endlessly, and each time your name has been raised, it has struck me to the core, and each time I have seen you, I have wanted you nearer, and I have wept for it, and I have not slept for want of you, and it is driving me mad. I have never felt loneliness so keenly, and I had resigned myself to loneliness before you came, I have borne it since my brother rode out to fight, but I cannot bear this.
I cannot bear this, Daario. [Her eyes search his face. She has stepped away from him, her hand no longer at his arm, and yet she cannot seem to draw back more than a little way, as though there is something still binding her, drawing her in. There is a lump in her throat, treasonous and unwanted.] To have you is to risk your life, and my lord's safety, and all the kingdom, and all that I love. To turn from you should be so simple a thing, and yet...
[She lets out a long, shuddering breath and lets her hands fall to her sides.]
Do not tell me of the pain it causes you. I am no less wounded. It serves no end to dwell on pain, unless we can answer it.
What are we to do?
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 07:14 am (UTC)[ The words rush out on a slightly shaky breath. It's the most honest thing he'd said in weeks. To everyone else he's interacted with, he's been a shell of himself; performing, essentially, the role of the man he was before all of this began - lively, charming, bold, capable. He's kept up enough of the facade for others not to catch on, and he does so out of necessity. It would do no good for anyone to notice his pining, his ache.
Certainly not under the ever watchful gaze of Wormtongue; who, although Daario has spent no further time interacting with Éowyn since that night after their ride; still scrutinizes his every step, listening in to his conversations when he thinks Daario is unaware. But he's always aware; because he has to be.
And she's right, to be with him is to risk everything she has. The risk to himself, his own life; means less because of how familiar risk is to someone like Daario. He can navigate it well enough, as evidenced by the past few weeks; agonizing as they have been. He knows that what he wants from her is not something she can give; and yet he wants it still.
It brings him some comfort in the knowledge that she is no less affected by this than he. That she aches as he does. Though it doesn't solve anything. ]
I don't know. [ He answers truthfully, uselessly; alone in the stall with her he's far too distracted by her proximity to come up with any logical solutions; if any actually even exist. All he knows is that when her hand drops from his arm, he wants it back; wants her touch so desperately that he acts purely from that desire - disregarding every risk and every warning and every reason why he should not do so, he steps closer to her and lifts his hand to frame her face. He swallows against the thickness building in his throat, his gaze raw and pleading. ]
I don't know how to be near you without touching you. [ His fingertips brush down along her cheekbones to her jaw, an unsteady sigh leaving his chest; his voice coming out in a quiet sort of rasp. ] I'm not strong enough. [ His gaze darkens as he shifts closer to her. ] It isn't fair of me to ask it of you, but you have to leave. You have to leave me here, or I will not be able to stop.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 01:35 pm (UTC)[It seems to her that she has forgotten how to breathe. Standing so close, he seems to take on a strange power, an intensity of presence, as though he is somehow the only real thing in the world. This is exactly what she has been striving to avoid, what she should not allow. At the same time, it is all she has wanted for weeks: his touch, his closeness, the look in his eyes that says she need not be alone.]
[Her hand comes up to cover his, and it trembles a little. Her voice is barely a whisper when she echoes his words.]
I am not strong enough.
[And she gives in to that pull, unable to prevent herself: she moves closer, almost without knowing it, until they are nearly chest-to-chest, until she can feel his breath unsteady against her cheek. Shame washes over her, but it is not nearly as strong as that magnetic draw of his touch.]
Who knows you are here?