The very next day...
Daemon woke up not feeling too good. Especially by the top of his head, where he frets he might have some bruising bump.
Quite the headache he also has. An after effect that was clearly much worse than overly intoxicating himself with wine.
Not to mention the other strains he felt around his body... specifically his face, neck, and back that may have not been positioned right for quite a while.
Whoever ambushed the princely him had no qualms about hitting him hard at all. Nor were they delicate with it.
Which inadvertently made the groggy him try to look around... to whatever hell his ambusher had holed him at.
And surely, it was no longer by that passage of Maegor.
Oddly enough, he heard something and at its source was a blurry figure of a woman in white.
A woman who was familiar, yet he still asked. "Am I your prisoner, Lady Mysaria?"
"As I was once yours?" She asked back, which made him let out a chuckle.
"I'm your protector, lucky for you." Mysaria said as she got close to him to hand over some cup.
"This will cut the fog." Was what she reasoned.
But Daemon didn't want to drink it, so he dropped it, and then wearily said. "I don't need protection from a common whore."
"I am not so common." She defended.
To which, he took his shot to say. "A not-so-common whore then."
"I've left that life behind." She ensued. "I learned that skin-trade could only take me so far in this life."
Of course, as she said so, a child barged in to hand her something... some coins she counted.
"You never were one to stay idle." Daemon commented... but his bare attention was towards the silver-haired little boy that handed her the coins.
"Hard lessons are not welcomed but suffered." She suddenly lectured...
However, at this point, he's locked his thoughts onto the boy with Valyrian traits... alas, this was also when he felt his consciousness blurring back.
"Mysar..." He weakly tried to say.
"Mysar..." He really wanted to ask... but he couldn't.
For the pain in his head flared... and he felt weakness overcome him.
But Mysaria did not seem to have much patience... and just said. "You can pay for the room on your way out. Just remember that it was me who found you from where you were sprawled and nursed you here in safety. And such a service is not free."
And as she could be heard walking away with the child... Daemon's thoughts were barely hanging in there.
All he knew was that his plan to get revenge had failed.
He had to get even for the stealing of his years of effort in the Stepstones, after all.
What better way to do so than foiling the marriage that was building up?
His son wasn't exactly as accommodating of him as he hoped, so Daemon wasn't here to act as some father who's giving his blessings.
And that humiliation at the Great Hall was not for nothing. While seeking comfort in this home was just another lie.
His plot was to whisk away the bride from Ronan at this precarious juncture... to ruin her when she accepts his creative invite.
Alas, none of that had worked out.
It only resulted in him currently being delirious from another defeat. Stacking from the many prior losses he had.
Also haunted by the image of that little boy besides Mysaria... who looked as exotic as her, yet also Valyrian like himself.
Could he be? He wondered.
But such a rush of thoughts stopped. As he was finally unconscious once again.
---------------
On the other hand, Mysaria shook her head at the pitiful sight of Daemon Targaryen.
The Rogue Prince, who has fallen further from grace.
A fact that made her let out a heavy breath.
Since him being in such a state was not conducive to what she had in mind.
To reach the goal she had strived towards during all these years.
Wherein she had turned herself into the White Worm.
Stemming from her consistent choice of wearing white clothing. While the worm in the name could refer to her ability to stealthily gather information from the "dirt" of Flea Bottom and operate in the shadows of the city.
Accumulating connections. Gathering wealth. To create a base of power... to change herself and her dear son.
Yes, her son.
While her clients called her that moniker... she privately believed herself to actually be the White Wyrm.
Which sounded the same yet truly meant something different.
Inspired by her experience of being able to ride the Blood Wyrm Caraxes... and an ambition driven when she birthed a child with dragonblood.
Daemon's child.
The made-up one he stole an egg for... the imagined baby he used to get the King's attention... had actually been real all along.
A pregnancy she belatedly noticed. When she already hitched herself onto a boat to get away from Dragonstone.
A seasickness that was not.
But they've already broken up, and Daemon has consequently stagnated himself in the war against the Crabfeeder.
Which may be for the best... as that callous Prince considered children to be such irritating creatures when they last spoke. While his treatment of the Young Bronze at that time wasn't anything stellar either.
So, Mysaria raised the child on her own all these years. Whilst escaping the identity of a whore so that she not taint her little prince with it.
The prince she hoped to not remain Waters... but a Targaryen eventually.
Alas, with the Rogue Prince as he currently is... the road to legitimize her son might take some while...
And Mysaria can still endure also being called Lady Misery. A trial, she considered it, like the one that Rhea Royce had lived through.
Then again, Rhea's son could prove to be the biggest obstacle. An insurmountable one.
The Bronze of Many Titles. Whom she's heard to have just frightened the Hightower's propagandic show.
The half-brother of her son. The one she hoped Baemon could be half as good as.