for Genya Safin (safine)

[firstbornstorm]

Both Tycho and Irran had been giving him no end of shit over his "obsession" with the "White Ravkan Witch". The last time they'd started, it had ended in a brawl, with Daemon taking on both of them, and leaving both of his friends soundly trounced in the dirt, to the others' absolute amusement. And even though he sported his own black eye, a wicked cut on one cheek, several bruised ribs, and walked with a limp for the next fortnight, neither the Bravosi or the Ghiscari had breathed another word about her.

Robert had already left for the Ravkan capital, thus Daemon and his companions were hard-pressed to catch up with the King of Westeros, but not for nothing were all of them excellent horseman, and besides, Daemon had a meeting. He'd asked his "Ravkan Witch" to meet him in the village outside of the palace, and she'd agreed. Two hours, and she'd given him precise directions. And he'd be there.

And the Baratheon Prince and his entourage rode into the village not a scant half hour before he was to meet her, their horses stamping and lathered, but still strong. Daemon had memorized Genya's directions, not needing the parchment to guide him as he dismounted and handed his reins to Agga. The others took themselves off, the local bar their destination; they knew their Prince would be blind and deaf to all else for the rest of the afternoon.

Still dusty from the road, and wearing his battle leathers and weapons (customary, when traveling these days), Daemon made his way to Genya's specific meeting place, pausing just before arriving to take a deep breath, steady his nerves, and, after a moment of realization, brush off what dirt he could. He was a Prince. The least she deserved was a bedraggled ruffian barging in like an uneducated barbarian.

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[safine]

Genya didn't have much power in the sense most people meant, but she had cultivated her own sphere of influence among the palace servants, and that came in very handy when trying to find ways to spend time with Daemon.

The cottage she was waiting for him in was actually the home of one of the maid's father, and she had been give leave to have it to herself for a few hours while the man took himself to the tavern to enjoy a few very leisurely glasses of kvas.

If there had been anything in her wardrobe but the hated white keftas, she would have worn it for this meeting. She knew Daemon didn't think of her as a servant, but the ivory cloth always made her feel like one all the same.

Still, when she opened the door to greet him it was with a smile. A real smile.

"Daemon. It's good to have you back."