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She'd preceded him into the caves when they'd arrived, leaving Daemon to see to The Black, and when he ducked into the small opening to join her, both of his eyebrows had lifted high to the sight greeting him. The romantic connotations weren't entirely lost on Westeros' king, and his lips crimped only slightly in bemusement as he watched his lovely wife pitter about here and there.

Something had been niggling at her, he'd noticed, and while he'd never belittle or brush off any of her concerns, he did hope she came to him with it soon. She seemed almost...nervous, in a way, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat then moving away. But for her, he would wait; let her come to him, and thankfully she did, taking his hands with soft kisses and softer words.

Most was what he'd expected - the concerns of a loving wife when her husband was about to embark on a foolish errand; a necessity, to be sure, but still foolish; but her latter words took him entirely by surprise and it was a long, still moment before their meaning finally permeated his thick head and now blue eyes widened.

"--us?" Long fingers splayed over her belly, the touch separated by the layers of warm fabric necessary here in the North. "Margaery, are you...?" Daemon blinked, still not quite believing it. "--are you sure?"

She watched him, her own fond smile spreading across her face as she felt his fingers move across her belly, loving the sight of her husband shell-shocked for once, very apparently lost for words. "I haven't spoken to a maester just yet, but. I have not bled for two months now, and I've been feeling more tired, heavier, more easily nauseated than I normally would be. If it had just been a month of these symptoms, I would have considered it an effect of traveling, but my breasts are also-" Margaery broke into a wider smile. "-more tender, than usual. And not as a side effect of your attentions, my love."

For all their voracious lovemaking, it seemed as though there were still ways for her to feel bashful in front of her husband. But even as a blush settled prettily over her cheeks, she bit her lip, waiting for Daemon's full reaction to her news. Her anticipation did not come from a fear that he would not be a good father, or that he'd be angry with her - her King was a good man who would care of his family more jealously than any dragon guarded its treasures, but while this had been an expectation, the timing of it could not have been more dramatic.

If her husband's mission was to fail, if he was captured or seriously wounded or even killed, their child would be in danger from the moment he or she was born. History books always laid out great detail of what innocent children of kings suffered once their fathers fell. "I do not wish to give you the burden of more thoughts to bear," she told him, letting her gaze dip to watch the way his large hand covered the expanse of her stomach. "But I don't think I would've been able to handle letting you go without telling you, Daemon."

He still didn't quite believe it. Yes, the production of an heir was paramount in the line of succession, he knew that; but to hear it from his wife's own mouth, that she carried his child even now in her belly... That did things to Daemon that he'd never imagined he'd ever have to handle in his entire life.

Which was why he slowly sank down to his knees in front of Margaery, reverent and absolutely speechless for the first time in his existence. His hand was still splayed across her abdomen, but Daemon found himself leaning his cheek against her midriff, imagining that he could even now feel his son or daughter moving beneath his Queen's skin. A shuddered sigh shook his shoulders, leaving him feeling strangely lightheaded, even more so than did battle-fever or simple plain lust.

"...don't worry," he finally managed to rasp against her dress. "You've just given me far better incentive to finish this campaign and return home, and leave this frozen wasteland to those who treasure it." Because he certainly didn't.

Then it occurred to him, and he lifted his head to stare up at his wife, concern suddenly etched across his face. "...have I hurt you, since..?" Gods, if he had...! Daemon bit his lip, vastly uncertain. "...will I have to...will we--have to restrain ourselves, since you're now with child?"

She let him go, startled as she was in the first few seconds, allowing her hands to rest on his head instead, gently petting through those dark strands as her joy continued to balloon through her smile. How she already longed to tell her child of this moment, of how their father, a King of the Seven Kingdoms, sank to his knees in a stupor for the first time in his life, winded by the mere knowledge of their budding existence. Margaery hadn't known she could love him any more than she already did, but this was proving otherwise, as her heart felt like it was expanding to twice its size.

"Oh, my darling," she said softly, cupping his jaw, willing those concerned clouds in his beautiful eyes away. "I'm certain that if you had, I would have felt it. A woman's body is complicated, but in matters like this, I believe it is honest. And we'll only have to restrain ourselves in the final weeks, when I will resemble a beached whale more than I resemble myself anyway," it was a light joke, meant to bring a smile to his face, but she knew nothing would ease his trepidation away more than the thought of - "There's also the possibility that the pregnancy will make me... even more ravenous than normal."

Of course, the alternative of a far more difficult period was just as likely, but Daemon looked so lost and uncertain that Margaery did not want him to be overwhelmed with the full intricacies of pregnancy; better to let him enjoy the full, overwhelming aspects of it when he came back a hero from Winterfell's gates. "I hope they will have your eyes," she told him, brushing her thumb over his eyebrow tenderly. "And your temper. Especially if this little one is a girl. I want her to be completely fearless, and strong, just like you, my love."

Daemon leaned his head into Margaery's hands, as always relishing the sweet softness of her tactile affection. His mother had died when he'd been just twelve years old, and since her passing he'd held himself aloof from any simple kindness, preferring to harden his hide and steel his spine, but his wife's gentle touch he'd quickly come to crave.

Margaery could change his entire mood with just a touch. Be it on his shoulder, his arm, his hand; one of the most powerful things about the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was her ability to soothe her husband's sometimes volatile temper, no doubt saving the head of whomever had, inadvertently or not, roused his hot blood and ire.

And a relieved sigh went out of him at her reassurance, and he did indeed huff a snort with a smirk to her exaggeration, surely, of herself in her final weeks of pregnancy. But the idea that carrying a child might make her sexual appetites even more pronounced garnered the upward flick of a sharp eyebrow, and a brief but greedy light to flare in those blue eyes she so adored.

"If that's so," he told her, tone a little salacious, "then I'll be more than happy to oblige, my Queen." He slowly regained his feet as she spoke further, gently pulling her into his arms and holding her close, burying his nose in the fall of her hair and feeling a heady, heady warmth rush over and beneath his skin, and for just a few, golden moments, Daemon let himself back in this good woman's love.

"She will be," he whispered at her ear, softly kissing her neck. "And she'll be beautiful, lovely as the sunrise. Like her mother."

For all the ways he was a conqueror, Daemon was also hers to care for. Hers to love, chide, soothe, and comfort, in the quiet moments spent between them as husband and wife, not king and queen. And while Margaery had been trained and taught to do exactly that, there was a genuine measure of affection and love in her practiced nature of wifely duties that her King responded to in kind - something she knew made their union all the more sweeter and stronger for it.

Margaery's laugh was soft and delighted when he embraced her again, holding onto his broad frame as tightly as she could and relishing this moment of complete joy - in the beginning of their journey into a true family. She made a noise of contentment at the kiss on her neck, turning her head to tuck her cheek against his briefly, a selfish wish to stay here forever treacherously surfacing before she silenced it.

"And if it's a boy? You must promise not to be jealous of all the attention I give him." she teased, kissing his neck in return. She breathed in deeply, smiling at the familiar, masculine scent that never failed to fill her with happiness so strong that it almost felt like a torrential wind in her heart, and relished all the sharp edges of her emotions. "And that goes for all of our children, my love." she murmured, leaning back just enough to trace his jaw with her fingers. "I want so many, with you. I want to see you overwhelmed with how much they adore you, one at a time and all at once."

You will never be alone again, she had promised him once, when they married. But for her husband, who grew through so much pain and suffering, there was a fierce desire to show him the best aspects of life that he had never been able to experience. "I love you, Daemon. And all our children will, too. That is one thing I am certain they will inherit from me."

For once, the demons which drove him to such fierce determination, such unbridled recklessness, were quiet. Soothed by the sweet, tender affection of this one single woman, the only one who'd taken the chance to look beneath his scarred hide, beneath the brash bravado, behind the curtain he'd been forced to erect between his tarnished soul and the rest of the miserable world. Margaery's words washed over him like a cool spring rain, leaving him calm, quiet, and content. He rested his forehead against hers and let his eyes drift closed, still more than astounded at the miracle growing between them.

And she wanted many, she'd said. The thought of a platoon of Baratheon children, all resembling both him and his beautiful wife, filled him with the strangest, most bittersweet longing he'd ever before felt. And he wanted it. Daemon wanted it. A life, a family, with no one else but this woman. His woman, his lover, his best friend, his lovely Queen.

Head still resting against hers, Daemon lifted his hands and reverently cupped Margaery's cheeks, smoothing the rough pads of his fingers over her skin, soft as silk. "...I love you," he whispered, almost ragged, but stained with honest sincerity, truth; words he'd said to no one else, ever. "You're mine," he promised, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. "Now, forever, and always. I can't be without you, not anymore." A soft smirk teased her, and he gently bumped his nose against hers. "You've tamed this beast inside me, Margaery Baratheon. He's yours, and we'll give you as many wild little ones as you desire."

She was certain that they had said it to each other many times before, although without so many words. The gentle caress of his hand against her cheek early in the mornings, pushing her hair away from her face; her constant diligence in checking in with the King throughout the day, no matter where he was; his insistence to bring her into all important matters despite tradition, to keep her by his side always - his devotion, so honest that Margaery saw the way all other women had disappeared from his sight the moment they had married.

Tears were in her eyes before she even recognized their presence, spilling over as her eyes closed with a wide smile, face tilted up to keep their faces close together. To hear those words affected her in a way that she hadn't thought possible, reared as she was for the politics and lies of King's Landing. Here the truth was given to her so sweetly and earnestly, all hers to take and keep for herself. Perhaps this was what it meant to truly be a queen.

"A truly dangerous promise, my love." she told him, laughing at her own emotional reaction and quickly burying her face in his chest to make the tears disappear. Tonight would be about them, about the hope for the future, and Margaery refused to touch upon the shadows of her heart where her fears lay - for as love grows, so does the fear of losing it. The bath had been optional, but now that she was in her husband's arms, all she longed for was to feel his skin against hers.

Her hands moved up underneath his tunic, resting over his waist. "Will you indulge me for one more night, my love?"

Daemon felt his wife's hands sneaking beneath his tunic and he had to chuckle. "Only one?" he teased, smirking down at her. "You must not know your husband very well, my Queen." Daemon dipped his head to kiss her, slow, sweet, and thorough, sighing against her lips when finally they parted. "...every night," he promised. "For as long as you live. Margaery...I swear it."

He wanted no one else but her. Gone were the memories of others, women who had taught him how to appreciate the softer gender, to treasure the feel of a woman in his arms; they were all burned to ash in the wake of his unquenchable fire for this woman who was now his wife.

"Tell me what you want," he entreated, sliding his hands down her body to cup her bottom, lifting her lightly to fit so perfectly against his hard frame. But then a spark of his humor lit and his smirk widened, blue eyes glinting mischievously. "Although, I'm wondering if this is your charming yet subtle way of telling me that I need a bath?"

"I'm holding you to it, Daemon," she murmured softly in return, still gasping for breath after their kiss, eyes closed to savor every second of his sweet promise before they opened up again to meet his mischievous glint with her own. "Have I not told you how much I love the smell of you, or is it not obvious enough?" The King and Queen's ardent appreciation for each other was fast becoming old gossip at this point, especially as it was not the sort of content most rumors thrived off of. Margaery herself made it a point to visit her husband during his active hours, to personally hand him his water and wipe at his brow, and tease him into spending a few extra moments kissing her. There was something in his scent that felt so masculine that it always set her senses alight.

"But I would not say no to a bath with you," she continued, leaning up to press her cheek against his affectionately. "I long to feel your skin on mine without any worry of being interrupted." If she could spend all night kissing her husband, touching him and all his scars, giving him so many reminders of how much she loved him, sending him off would be so much easier. "It has been so long since we were able to be truly alone." Margaery gave him another small smile, before stepping back so she could begin unlacing the top layer of her dress; wintry conditions and the changing condition of her body meant she was taking extra care to dress more warmly now, but she couldn't deny the appeal of forcing her husband to wait out a few more seconds to see her naked.

"You'll let me bathe you, won't you?" An innocent question, posed exactly as her underskirts fell to the floor and she was stepping out of them delicately, shivering briefly at the slight chill of the cavern. She wasted no time in reaching for his clothes then, pulling the shirt up to get it over his head first. Although their days did not always line up in schedule, when they were able, Margaery loved the simple joy of washing her husband's hair, pouring water over his dark head and massaging his scalp with her nails in hopes of further relaxing her lover. "You know it'll make me very happy, love."

He watched as Margaery disrobed, gaze no less hungry than it had ever been before. He was such an addict to his wife's body, and her touch, and her love. There was a mild flare of his nostrils at the slight delay caused by extra layers, but once smooth skin was revealed in the soft candlelight, all of Daemon's worries and cares fell away; they didn't matter here, not now.

She came to him and he obligingly let her undress him, sneaking little kisses and touches as she worked. "Of course," he breathed beneath her ear, lips sucking the soft lobe briefly. "We have all night. No one will disturb us here." He'd been firm on that point. Once the both of them were gloriously naked, Daemon wasted no time in reverently gathering his wife in his arms and taking her to the spring, not releasing her until he was waist deep in the small pool.

The water was deliciously warm, and he immediately sank down until it covered his shoulders, drawing Margaery down with him and holding her close. "Take your time," he murmured against her neck, rubbing large hands up and down her smooth back. "I want to make you happy, however I can."

"I just need you with me," she admitted with a small smile, pressing her forehead against his as she kissed him everywhere she could reach, from the stubble on his cheeks to the hard line of his jaw, and lower still, to his pulse point. "I know I won't be able to rest well enough until you return, but at least like this, I have enough happy memories of us to tide me over," Margaery smiled so he could feel it, nipping gently at his neck. "For your Queen is already very greedy, Your Grace, but I have even more of an excuse for it."

Their baby would feel her happiness, her fear, her emotions, everything she experienced as it grew in her belly, and she was already determined to spoil the little peach; anything to make this cruel life softer for the sweetling they both created. Her hands began to run through his hair gently, wetting it so she could run her fingers through it with careful attention and love. It excited her, to think that in a few months' time, she could be cradling a babe with his beautiful eyes. And in a few years, she could be chasing an energetic child, laughing at the adorable squeals of playful fear.

"You don't care, do you?" she asked gently, fingertips massaging his scalp. Daemon was the last person Margaery would expect to hold up the desire for having a male heir first and foremost, but asking would quell any lingering fears she might have. "That we might have a daughter?"

Daemon closed his eyes and fell still under Margaery's reverent hands, letting both the hot water and her love wash over him, a soothing balm to all of his jagged edges. Only with her could he soften, let down the guard around his heart and soul, as he knew she'd never abuse either. The coming mission would be dangerous, and that was something he could not help, but he trusted himself, and his men; they'd been through worse, after all. Still, he knew she'd worry, regardless of any assurances given. So he simply held her close, loving her with soft kisses and softer caresses as they knelt together in the steaming pool.

Then she asked about their child, of his preference for a girl or boy, and Daemon's eyes opened, a mild frown wrinkling his brow over his slanted smile. "Gods, no. I hope that we do, really." He sighed contentment and, his wife still cradled in his arms, shifted around until he could perch on a submerged outcrop, settling Margaery astride his lap with the water lapping at his shoulders and just beneath her breasts. Which immediately earned the soft suction of his mouth, first one, then the other, even as his hands roamed her lower back and hips beneath the pool's surface.

"...a beautiful little girl," he mused, resting his temple against the swell of a breast. "With your curls, pouty little mouth, and devious smile." An exhaled chuckle warmed her skin. "Yeah...I'd love that, princess. I really would."

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