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just-some-random-blogger · 8 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys this not fully proofread as I am exhausted | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You cannot tear your eyes away from Daemon as you walk down the halls together. Though he already told you the blood on his armor was not his, you could not help but worry that perhaps he had a wound hidden away underneath his steel plate. Your stare is so heavy, he's unable to ignore it, thus why he huffs, "out with it."

You perk at his words and rub your hands together.

He raises a brow at you, "or do you merely think me so devastatingly handsome you cannot help but stare?"

You slowly shake your head, "are you certain you are unharmed?"

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks forward, "I am offended you did not agree."

You knit your brows, "you," you shake your head, "already know. You are comely husband."

He turns back to you.

You cannot name the expression he gives you.

"Did I not say I was unharmed?"

You stop in your tracks out of frustration, grabbing his arm, "Daemon."

He turns to you, face hardening at your look of concern.

"If you are hurt, then we should head for the maester's."

He chuckles under his breath and pulls away, "a funny thought coming from you."

Your brows furrow deeper as you tail after him, "I do not follow."

He looks over his shoulder, lips curling, "considering you are sick and yet nowhere near the maester's ward."

You only then recognize his smile was mocking. You feel a pinch in your chest. You shake your head, "we are not the same. If there was something to be done about my affliction, my father would have seen it done years ago."

Daemon laughs.

You wait for him to explain his laughter, but he does not. You take his arm again, "what amuses you?"

Your husband looks at you, then at the hand you had on his bicep, "through it all, you hold your father in such high regard."

You clench your jaw and release his him.

He enjoys your dejection, thus why he takes your hand, placing it back in its place with a chuckle, "say it isn't so— I dare you."

You look back at him. His smile is like a needle through your heart. He must think you're stupid without even trying. You mutter, "I am merely stating facts."

He laughs again, "your frail heart keeps you naive."

The feel of his armor is suddenly scorching and you have to pull away. He stares at you after the fact, but does not take your hand again.

You do not speak until you reach the door to the meeting room. Once there, Daemon motions with his head, "wait for me. You like flowers don't you?"

You look over your shoulder and realize that he was motioning to the window that gave view to the gardens. You turn back to him and step forward, reaching out to retrieve the flower in his hair. It would not be appropriate for him to attend a council meeting like this.

Daemon mistakes your action for affection, and moves his head away so you cannot caress his cheek, "I said I am unharmed, woman. Now go sit down."

He walks off after this, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall alone. Just as he enters the room, you struggle with yourself if you should call out to him or simply run up to him and snatch the flower off his head. But then, the moment is gone and he's already inside.

You cannot find it in you to sit as you overthink what would become of your husband because of the flower in his hair.

Just as you begin to pace around, you are rendered frozen when you hear your name get called.

Viserys smiles at you, as he and his council members walk over, "good morrow."

You make eye contact with your father, who was walking just behind the king, and lower your gaze as you curtsy, "your grace. A pleasant morning to you."

Viserys stops in front of you, clapping his hands once, "why, you look fetching my dear," his eyes examine your hair, and you, yourself, are reminded by the presence of the blossoms on your head, "did you pick those from the garden?"

You rise and smile at your husband's brother, shaking your head, "my ward, ser Erryk, was kind enough to- ..." you catch yourself amidst your confession, eyes suddenly darting to your father.

Otto's jaw is set and his eyes are already angered.

You gulp and decide to continue nevertheless, "...accompany me flower picking in the meadow."

Otto huffs audibly, but the king's reaction is so stark in contrast, your father does not have the opportunity to butt in this moment. Viserys claps once again and smiles, "oh good. Some fresh air always did help me. Of course, when I say fresh air, I really mean going on dragon back, but strolling in the meadow picking flowers is a fine pastime."

You are touched by the king's amicable sentiment. You repay his smile with your own, "I completely agree."

"I do not," Otto says, "what if you get an attack in the middle of the nowhere? What if the pain is too great and you are not brought home in time?"

Viserys and you turn to the Lord Hand. The king responds, "she was accompanied by her ward. Is that not why you requested one for her?"

"I requested a ward to keep her in check to prevent her from doing things that would cause her affliction to worsen."

You tense under the harsh sound of Otto's voice.

Viserys recognizes your discomfort and waves him off, "you needn't be so hard on your daughter. It is good for the spirit to reserve time frolicking."

You gulp the next time the king smiles at you. You do not smile back and merely curtsy at him. With that, he and his council members go into their meeting room and you are left alone once more.

The council members' muttering comes to a halt when they see prince Daemon in his seat.

"Kind of you to join us today, brother," Viserys huffs, "we were just talking about you."

Daemon eyes Otto, "the topic being my bride, no doubt."

Otto has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he walks to his chair. His throat constricts, as if he was about to retch, when he sees the flower by his ear. He thinks of you and the flowers in your hair and figures Daemon did this to spur him on. He releases a deep breath to calm himself, "the topic being your power tripping with the City Watch last night."

Daemon glares at him. The king sits at the head of the table. The prince links his hands together, "you would know to mind your tongue, Lord Hand. I care little for the tears my wife will shed once I sever your neck from your spine."

"Daemon," Viserys snaps.

"And what I did last night was clean the streets from the putrid scabs of the city in preparation for my birth of my brother's child."

"And you exacted a very public show of extreme violence while doing so," Viserys leans on the table, "you maimed and mutilated peopl-"

"Criminals," Daemon whips his head. He raises his brows, "would you rather they strut free and continue stealing, raping, and killing in your city?"

"I would have them see justice."

Daemon chuckles dryly.

Viserys raises a finger, "your blade is not the writ of justice."

"Do you mean to tell me it's yours?" the younger Targaryen narrows his eyes.

"I AM THE KING," the elder Targaryen snaps.

The prince does not flinch, "speaking loudly will not make it truer, brother."

Needless to say, the meeting is coarse and uncomfortable.

You start from where you were sat by the window upon witnessing Daemon shove the meeting doors open. He storms out of the room grumbling and you have to gather your skirts to run off after him.

"What's happened?" you mutter when you reach his side.

He ignores you, simply continuing to march away with a storm cloud overhead.

You are partially surprised to find that he was heading towards your shared chambers. He shoves the doors open then marches towards your private baths. There, your tub holds steaming water. You were grateful the servants thought to prepare the bath here and not Daemon's personal quarters.

Daemon begins to callously remove his armor and immediately ceases when you come towards him to do it yourself. You look between his hard expression and hard attire, thinking of something to say to calm his down.

You think of nothing.

The moment he is free of his steel, he removes the rest of his garbs himself and steps into the tub. You meant to remove the flower in his hair but then he wordlessly offers you his arm, expecting you to clean him, and so you do without fuss.

In the quiet of washing and splashing water, you feel Daemon slowly begin to relax. He leans back, releasing a sigh as he shuts his eyes. You stare at him for a long moment. He is beautiful.

"Your father is a fucking cunt."

You purse your lips as you release his arm. He opens his eyes when you pull away, then watches as you circle around the tub. You sigh as you take his other arm and begin scrubbing it, "he is... sometimes unkind."

He scoffs, turning to you, "sometimes?"

You focus on his arm, unwanting to meet his gaze, "he was kind to my mother... I think. And to my brother... sister... sometimes."

Daemon watches you, brows furrowing, "and you?"

You shrug, "sometimes?"

"Why do you defend him?" he tilts his head.

Finally, you look at him. The glint in his violet eyes make him appear as though he genuinely wanted to understand you. You shrug once more and shake your head, "he is my father."

"He is a cunt."

You tilt your head, scooping water onto his arm, "surely you've thought the same thing about your brother." You look between his arm and his face.

Daemon does not respond. He does, however, pull away from you.

You stare at him, trying to anticipate his next move.

He motions with his head then leans back in the tub once more, "strip. You should bathe with me."

You stiffen at his proposal, but do not object otherwise. You gather your hair and turn around, "will you undo my laces?"

Daemon, for some reason, is taken aback by the request. There is something that swirls in his gut. Still, he moves towards you and undoes your ties, pushing your dress down after. You shudder when he frees you of your shift and strokes your spine with the back of his hand.

"The king demands we have a family dinner before the tourney tomorrow," Daemon mindlessly mutters, "you must wear something pretty."

You gulp when he kisses your shoulder and scratches your sides until he's cupping your breasts. You gasp and turn when he tries to pull you in. Finally, the flower in his hair falls off when your nails dig into his scalp as he kisses you.

By the time the water goes cold and your bliss from love making wears off, you are faced with the fact your neck and collarbones are covered in glaring purple and red marks again.

Daemon does not relent as you both dress. He is adamant in covering your skin with bruises and bites. You are not surprised that he makes you wear something that showcases your decolletage, but you at least find solace in the fact he makes you keep your hair down in its natural state.

The air is tense as your families eat dinner. You sit next to each other, with him to your right, followed by Viserys and Aemma. In front of the queen was Rhaenyra, then Alicent by the left, Gwyane, and finally your father, who sat before you.

There was something serene in the sinister way Daemon strokes your arm and pushes your hair back. You knew he was doing this to rile your father up, yet you did not know why your body found comfort in his touch.

Then, in a flash, you were nothing but uncomfortable when your twin drops his silverware and blurts out, "you will not lose your hand if it does not grope my sister as we feast."

Daemon, who had been rubbing the your back all the way to the side of your breast, turned to your brother, who sat across him.

Gwayne clenches his jaw, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Daemon moves your hair to one side of your shoulder and caresses your neck with the back of his hands, "oh, but you see, now that I've..." he smiles, "sampled your dear sister, I fear that it might."

Otto is next to drop his utensils. Your body burns at Daemon's words but you can do nothing but lower your head in mortification.

Viserys sniggers. Aemma glares and nudges him.

"You would not understand this, for you are unmarried," Daemon says turning his head, "but perhaps your father will."

Viserys nearly chokes on his meal, but then clears his throat, "brother-" he withholds his laughter, "-that is quite enough." The king looks at the faces across the table, none of them but him and Daemon finding this predicament amusing, "I'm sure everyone is... overjoyed that you and your bride have found marital bliss, but do keep your manners," he nods, "you are seated before the king."

Daemon turns to Viserys and straightens up. He nods, "my king."

Viserys clears his throat again and nods, "manners, brother."

"Hmm, like you with Aemma?"

Rhaenyra slams her hands on the table, pushes her chair back, and stands. All turns to her and her sour expression as she speaks, "I'm quite finished with my food. If I may be excused... my king."

Otto stands next, his chair skidding behind him, "I am quite finished with my food as well," he nods at Viserys, "I wish you a good meal."

Your belly rolls when he looks at you.

"Daughter, might you walk me out of the room, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"She is quite busy with her food," Daemon immediately answers for you, "if you wish to speak something, speak it in front of us."

Your throat tightens.

"Tis a personal matter," Otto speaks firmly, "I would not put my child in an uncomfortable position."

Gwayne watches your expression, feeling restless because of your glaring discomfort.

"But you've already done so announcing your desire to speak to her so that she could not refuse," Daemon snaps.

Your chest begins to constrict. Gwyane picks up on how your breath quickens.

Otto clenches his jaw, "I wish to speak to my daughter."

"Yes, and I say fuck off."

"Daemon," Viserys finally snaps, turning to the said man. The king turns to you, peering past his brother, "you may speak to Otto if you wish, or you may simply continue with your meal."

You turn to your skirt and clench the fabric in your hand.

Daemon rubs your nape and your skin reacts with goosebumps. You gasp when his hand is snatched away by Viserys. You turn to them, struggling to breathe as you watch them bicker in High Valyrian.

Aemma tries to interject, but the brothers do not acknowledge her.

"Sister," Gwayne calls to you.

You want to turn to him, but you fear you will crumble in tears if you do.

The room is silenced when you stand. You feel everyone's gaze on your skin. "I wish-" you speak through a heavy breath, "-to retire."

You run out of the room before anyone can respond. Your heart drums in its cage but you tell yourself to run and to keep running.

Gwyane stands, ready to chase after you, but Daemon blocks him and their bodies violently collide. Daemon shoves him back and Gwyane is about to lunge at him but hears the voice of her baby sister calling his name in concern. His face twitches as he holds himself back.

"She is my wife," Daemon says.

"Then fucking go after her," Gwayne snaps, raising an arm, "she'll be heading to the temple, undoubtedly, which is outside the Keep, if you are not aware."

"Go on!" Otto snaps, pointing a finger, "chase after her."

Daemon seethes at the instruction. Dare he? He'll break the arm that fucking finger is connected to. He wants nothing less than to do what that cunt says.

"Go to her, Daemon," Viserys urges.

He glares at his brother, offended by his alliance with the fucker. Now he is really not going to do that. He's left with no other choice but to leave the damned dining room though. How lucky of him to run into the Cargyll twins on his way out.

"You," Daemon barks, calling the attention of the two men. He marches over to them, hands balled tightly into fists.

"My p-"

"The fucking Hand has upset the bitch again," the prince snaps, "she's run off in a fit to gods know where."

The two watch the prince have a hissy fit in High Valyrian before realizing he referring to his wife. Arryk says, "the princess has run off at this hour?"

"Her cunt twin said she'd go to the temple, but maybe she's fallen dead halfway through her sprint."

The twins turn to each other in horror.

"Ah, if only the gods were that kind," Daemon scoffs then looks between them, "find her. I do not wish to hear her pathetic sobbing."

Erryk's nostrils flare. Arryk clenches his jaw and nods. The latter begins to walk off and has to reel his brother by the arm to follow.

Daemon storms off to the dragon pit.

Arryk eyes his brother. Erryk's eyes remain on the prince, until his twin calls his attention.

You arrive at the temple of the Seven, forehead and nape sheened over with sweat. You nearly collapse before the Mother. The only reason you do not, is because two septas catch you before you collide with the shrine of candles. Upon recognizing you, they are quick to attend to you, saying they will get you water and a towel.

Running is a horrid activity that seems to only more horrid each time you do it. You find that your heart cannot keep up, and you are pushed into horrible breathlessness. Your father was strict to never let you run. You do not know if it is simply because you are not capable of running or because of your affliction that made it so.

You thank the gracious septas for their care and ask them if they would pray with you. Unable to deny you, a woman so devout and so... pitiful, they help you get on your knees and you recite The Mother's prayer together. At some point, you begin to weep, and once more it becomes increasingly harder for you to breathe. The septas have to stop praying and attend to you again.

"Princess!"

You are made to sit down on the floor. The two septas are replaced with two men, both dressed in steel, one as seemly as the other, albeit the mark of abject concern on their face. You frown as you look between Arryk and Erryk's worried features. Your scratch your eyes as they speak to you. The weight in your chest makes it hard to understand.

You hiccup as one of them scoops you into their arms. You do not realize you were being carried out of the temple until you are outside. "Wait," you sigh when you managed to catch a breath, "wait."

Whoever is carrying you does not hear it, but his brother does. He says, "wait, Erryk. What is it, princess?"

"I wish to pray," you mutter, eyes still wet with tears, "please."

Arryk looks at you. Erryk shakes his head, "we have to bring her inside."

"Erryk," Arrryk knits his brows, "she wishes to pray."

"She is in no condition to—" Erryk's words falter when your hand comes to his cheek.

You feel your lips tremble and you barely manage to speak, "please."

A line forms between his brows at the sound of your weak voice, "my prin-"

"Erryk," you stroke his cheek, "I need this."

Arryk looks between you and his brother. He watches him sigh and turn back. He follows after Erryk as he goes up the stairs, back towards the shrine.

You are placed before the Mother once more. You sigh and allow yourself repose before shifting on your knees. The twins leave you to your prayers, standing by not too far off.

Erryk's eyes remain on you. Arryk's eyes remain on Erryk.

"You tread a dangerous path, brother."

Erryk does look away.

Arryk sighs, turning his gaze over to you.

You sit on your knees, one arm rested on the plinth as you take a stick and light it. You whisper, "mummy," then light a candle, "me," then light another. Your soft whispers flutter in the echo chamber.

Both twins feel fangs rip into their stomachs as they watch you. Erryk's features are more honest to it however, which is why Arryk catches it and speaks again, "you are sworn to her, you fool."

"And you are not?" Erryk snaps, turning to his twin.

The brothers stare at each other for a moment. Arryk purses his lips and tilts his head, "I am not in love with her."

"Then leave," Erryk motions with a nod. He shifts in his spot, linking his hands together as he turns back back to you.

Arryk snorts and clenches is hands. His ears perk at the sound of your hushed sobbing. His heart clogs his throat.

Erryk sighs through his nose, "you are still here."

"I cannot leave her."

Erryk turns to Arryk, "then you are just as foolish as I."

"I-" Arryk starts. He cannot look away from you, "... I am sworn to her."

"She is beautiful," Erryk says.

Arryk finally tears his gaze only to shoot his brother a warning look, but Erryk's eyes are back on you.

"She wove flowers into my hair mere hours ago," he knits his brows, "she laughed and beamed and glimmered," Erryk sighs, "now she crumbles and weeps and hurts."

Arryk knits his brows, just as deep as his twin's.

You wipe your tears as you soothe yourself. You voice goes low again as you continue to pray.

"I am not a fool," Arryk says

Erryk laughs dryly, turning to him, "very well. If y-"

"I know she is beautiful," Arryk cuts him off.

His lips flatten.

Arryk gulps, "outside and within."

"As I said," Erryk replies, "just as foolish."

"I do not understand what could posses someone to hurt such a creature."

"Perhaps there is no soul to posses."

Arryk shakes your head, "you cannot allow your anger to get ahead of yourself, fool. You are glad the prince did not notice."

"The prince is too caught up in himself to notice anything that does not directly a..." Erryk's words go dry.

Arryk knits his brows, finding his twin was staring at something behind him. He looks over, stiffening when he catches the very person they were speaking of walking over.

Daemon makes a beeline towards you. He stops just behind you, lips and brows tense at the sound of your evidently upset voice. "Should you be doing this?"

You perk at the sound of the voice and look over your shoulder. You stare at Daemon, unsure if you were imagining him or if he was really there. You find that you don't really care, "will you pray with me?"

He does not like that you do not answer his question. He shifts on his spot, "did you faint or fall out of breath?

You turn back to the candles, "you must not be real."

"What?"

"I do not think my husband would care," you mutter, clasping your hands together in prayer.

Daemon does not move.

"You would pray with me then," you add, "you are kind."

The prince's face contorts. He feels like he is choking. He comes to your side, slowly dropping to his knees. He clasps his hands together, propping his elbows in front of him. He is taken aback by how you rest your head on his shoulder with no hesitation. He stiffens and a part of his mind screams to shove you away. He does nothing of the sort however.

"I tire," you admit.

"Then we sh-"

"Tell him to grant me my prayer."

Daemon slowly turns his head to look at you. He sees the way the tears trickle down from the bridge of your nose, "tell who?"

"The Stranger."

Daemon turns to the statue of the Mother. He wants to be difficult and tell you to simply move to the other statue, but instead he asks, "what is your request?"

"Death."

He turns back to you, expecting you to name a name. You do not, so he asks again, "your father?"

Your brows furrow, "no."

He turns to his hands. An unnamable emotion seizes him, "so... your husband?"

You finally lift your head. You turn to him, a deep frown on your face, "I do not wish you harm, Daemon."

He turns to you.

New tears burn down your cheeks.

A new unnamable emotion seizes him at the sight of your wobbling lips.

The twins find themselves looking away when the prince wipes your cheek.

You lean into his touch, "I have prayed for the same thing every night since I was ten."

Daemon's forehead curls, "what do you pray for?"

"To die."

The hand he had on your face tenses.

"It is pointless," you push his hand away, retreating from his touch, "my pain does not subside. My heart and flesh grow weaker each day."

Daemon is uneasy as you turn back to the Mother. He shakes his head, "I do not think the gods listen to such sinful prayers."

"Sin?" you chuckle under your breath.

Somehow your laughter sounds sadder than your weeping.

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision.

The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

You stare at his outstretched palm, then look up at him as he stands. You are loathe to move. You do not think you can, even if you wanted to, "I tire."

He leans over, draping your arm around his shoulders, "I'll bring you to bed."

You say nothing as Daemon pulls you in and carries you in his arms.

For the final time tonight, another unnamable emotions seizes him. It only further intensifies when you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

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tragicsiblings · 1 year ago

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We were one soul in two bodies, yes. / We were born together.

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grandkhan221b · 8 months ago

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Part 6 of Drawing Asoiaf Characters That Have An AI Generated Image On Their Wiki Page ! Erryk and Arryk Cargyll. Crazy that they didn't have any art

#no I didnt copy-paste what gave you that idea #my art #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fanart #valyrianscrolls #fire and blood #the dance of the dragons #anti ai art #erryk cargyll #arryk cargyll

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helaenathedreamer · 1 year ago

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that moment after cargyllbowl ends when the surviving twin steps towards rhaenyra and you're not sure whether it's erryk stepping towards the queen he killed a brother to protect or arryk stepping towards the pretender he killed a brother to take down. for a split second you can't tell which of them survived and then you realize it doesn't matter which one he is because actually neither of them survived. they were both already dead.

#hotd #hotd spoilers #erryk cargyll #arryk cargyll #house of the dragon #hotd s2e2

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prince-aegon-targaryen · 1 year ago

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Summary of tonight’s episode

#erryk cargyll #arryk cargyll #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen

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pompeianred · 1 year ago

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- We were born together. - You parted us! But I still love you, brother.

2x02: Rhaenyra the Cruel | HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022-)

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bumblesimagines · 8 months ago

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When Fire Meets Fate

Part 14

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt, (Y/N)'s thoughts become filled with reminders of his family on the opposing side.

CW/TW: Typical Got/HOTD warnings, violence, Ser Erryk's death, not-so-subtle period typical sexism, Ser Alfred and Lord Celtigar are their own warnings at this point

someone get this man a ticket to the summer isles asap

~~~

His hobbies became less enjoyable with each passing day. His eyes skimmed the words on the page, reading them, but his mind could not process them due to the turmoil within. The days of devouring books, reading hundreds or more pages were gone, halted by the war seeping through the cracks of barely contained peace.

(Y/N) thought of his niece's son, and couldn't help but wonder what his sister thought of it all. Did she despise them, despise him? Did she believe them free of guilt or had her futile hope died when the sword sliced through her grandson's throat?

He squeezed his eyes shut at the image, unable to think of the child without thinking of his own toddlers. With the death of Jaehaerys still fresh, everyone remained on high alert for a counterattack or another enemy taking advantage of the unsteady Realm by sowing more mayhem. Many'd chosen to remain neutral, some such as House Tyrell and House Greyjoy, but neither house seemed like the type to send assassins to kill children in their beds. Lord Tyrell was a mere boy whose mother ruled as regent and the Red Kraken faced his enemies head-on.

A quiet sigh brought his attention to Elinda as the handmaiden followed Rhaenyra to finish braiding her hair, only for his wife to walk forward again, too lost in her mind to give Elinda enough time. (Y/N) closed his book and set it aside, a trickle of amusement pouring in when he took in Elinda's twisted lips. Rhaenyra stared toward the window, her hands tightly clutched and her brows fixed into a near-permanent furrow. Worry had never been a good look on her.

"Nyra," He spoke, snapping her out of her distant trance. "Allow Elinda to finish working."

"Ah," Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at the brunette before snapping her head forward sheepishly, the skin along her cheeks gaining a soft pink color. Elinda, in all her patience, simply smiled and resumed working swiftly, her fingers moving automatically from the countless times she'd helped do Rhaenyra's hair. "My apologies."

"It is quite alright, Your Grace. Please try and lay down; it has been a weary day." Elinda spoke softly, finally finishing the long braid and resting it along Rhaenyra's back.

With a sigh of agreement, (Y/N) twisted around to tug down the pillows resting against the wooden headboard before he leaned back into them and sunk into their soft cushion. Rhaenyra joined him soon after, tucking her legs beside his underneath the covers and fluffing up the pillows with the heel of her palms. Elinda watched them solemnly as she placed empty teacups onto a tray and approached the bed with a sympathetic frown.

"You must sleep tonight," She told them gently, "Let me ask the maester for some draught."

Rhaenyra exhaled heavily through her nose, her body naturally curling into his side once she placed her head on his chest. "Perhaps that would be best." She murmured and draped her arm across his stomach. His fingers crept up her back until his palm settled on the curve of her hip. "Thank you, Elinda."

"Of course."

Elinda crossed the room to continue tidying up, but her work was cut short when the door opened and a familiar man stepped inside. Immediately, the couple sat up in their bed with near-bated breath at whatever news he could possibly be bringing them at such an hour. Even Elinda straightened up, the calm of her features disappearing into worry.

When the knight remained quiet as he stepped further into the room, Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. "Ser Erryk?"

The sound of a sword unsheathing echoed coldly through the room and dread settled uncomfortably in (Y/N)'s stomach. "Believe me," he spoke through gritted teeth, "I had no choice."

"Brother!" An angered shout followed the door being thrust open by a copy of the man already standing in their bedchambers. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, (Y/N) quickly realized, but who was who? (Y/N)'s arm shot out in front of Rhaenyra, his body scooting forward whilst his arm pushed her behind him. Her quickened breath filled his ears and her nails dug through the thin fabric of his sleeve as she clutched at his arm. "Do not do this. I beg you."

The twin who'd entered their room, Arryk, spoke heatedly but the slight tremble in his hand when he pointed his sword at his brother spoke for his true thoughts. "You are the one who betrayed us, Erryk,"

The two knights continued facing each other, one pushing forward and the other stepping back tentatively, the hesitation in their limbs keeping them separate until Arryk suddenly lunged toward the bed with a cry and his sword raised high. Rhaenyra yelped in surprise, her hands tugging and dragging her husband along with her as she scrambled backward until the two were pressed up along the headboard but thankfully, Erryk sprang into action immediately, blocking the swing of his brother's sword. Elinda dropped the tray onto the nearest table and ducked down behind it, her widened eyes jumping frantically between the couple and the brothers.

"Elinda, go!" Rhaenyra called to the panicked handmaiden, her voice mixing with the frequent clashing of metal against metal. "Run and find Ser Lorent!"

Hurriedly nodding, Elinda scooped fistfuls of her dress into her hands and raced toward the open door where she disappeared into the hallway. The knights took a moment apart, their chests heaving and features concentrated, but (Y/N) caught the flicker of relief on one of their faces when Elinda's footsteps became distant. Ser Erryk.

"Come," He breathed to his wife, reaching around behind him to grasp her arm and pull her as he scrambled toward the edge of the bed where Erryk stood closest. The knight glanced over his shoulder and followed their movements, using his body as a shield when Arryk swung again.

"(Y/N)," Rhaenyra whispered shakily, pressing herself against the stone collum and wincing with each clash of swords.

When Erryk's leg was struck, (Y/N) took her wrist and ran, the clanking of metal that followed them making his throat tighten. Rhaenyra cried out when she tripped on the ends of her nightgown, forcing (Y/N) to stop and duck down toward her as Arryk's body tumbled forward and onto a vase with a shove from Erryk. He wrapped his arms around her swiftly and cradled her whimpering form close to his chest, heavy and quick pants leaving him whilst he watched the brothers swing at each other.

"Your Grace, My Lord!" Ser Lorent appeared, rushing down the steps leading further into their bedchambers and waiting for the knights to move away before he raced forward to them. "With me!" He ordered, one arm behind them to guide them toward the other door and the other arm keeping his sword trained on the two for any sudden movements toward them.

Wiggling on the doorknob, (Y/N) cursed in frustration when it wouldn't turn, the adrenaline flowing through his veins beginning to give way to panic fueled by Rhaenyra's whimpers and watery eyes. The knights had tangled themselves together, concentrating their fight on each other but with their features and injuries, (Y/N) could no longer tell who was who. They only watched hopelessly as one began strangling the other.

"We were born together," One wheezed, voice strained from the hands clamped around his throat. (Y/N)'s hand tightened on the doorknob, finding his eyes unable to tear themselves away from the sight and words spoken. Alicent, Alicent, Alicent. His sister, his twin, the other half of his soul and body. Had she known of this? No.. not even their father would think of such a thing... would he?

"You parted us!" The other wailed through blood and tears, his body trembling from exhaustion and grief. Aching familiarity flooded (Y/N)'s chest and filled his eyes with salty, warm tears. "But I still love you, brother."

The one pinned between the floor and the wall dug his fingers into a cut on the other's leg, prompting a pained cry as he toppled over onto the floor. He dragged himself toward a tossed-aside sword on the floor as the other did similar. They stood up, faced each other, and charged, but instead of the dreaded clanging, (Y/N) heard the horrifying noise of cloth and flesh being torn into.

They held onto each other, stumbling and staggering through sobs.. until the dead weight of one forced the other to finally step back. The remaining twin panted heavily, his tears mixing with sweat and blood whilst he stared at the corpse of his brother.

"Your Grace, My Lord," He exhaled heavily when he faced them on unsteady feet and quivering lips. He turned his sword onto himself, shoulders slumping with exhaustion as soft sniffling left him. "Forgive me."

(Y/N) blinked. "Erryk-"

His words caught in his throat as Erryk collapsed down onto his sword, impaling his midsection and covering the floor with blood. (Y/N) turned Rhaenyra toward him instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head into his neck. The late guards that'd stormed the room at the last second stared aghast at the bodies, both men familiar but only one had been loyal to their cause.

His eyes roamed down to the floor, meeting the blank blue eyes of Erryk. Was this how he and his twin would reunite? Forced to look upon the body of the other in the end, with no way of reversing time and doing it right?

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut. When had been the last time he'd told Alicent he loved her?

"He is the basest of villains." Jace's voice held barely restrained anger in it, an emotion his son had grown so used to throughout his childhood. Always the storm, the spitfire, the one who lost his temper with mere words or looks. (Y/N) felt exhausted, too tired to deal with a son that reminded him so much of his younger self but when a hint of irritation flared in his belly, he remembered the wide-eyed, teary look on Jace's face upon seeing them alive and without injury before he'd rushed into their arms like a frightened child. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"They formed together in the womb, Jace." (Y/N) muttered, feeling the dirt escape between his fingers and onto the knights below. They said the dead often looked as if they were sleeping, but not even the Silent Sisters could hide the look of death on their faces; olive skin was now ghostly pale, and once pink lips a purplish tint. "They were born together, they died together. They were halves and now they're whole again. Leave them be."

"We cannot fault him for keeping his oath," Rhaenyra added softly, tiredly, mimicking her husband and releasing the dirt clutched in her hands onto the bodies below. Grief had become a numbed feeling, one circling their minds but too muddled with exhaustion and muted anger to take them fully into its clutches once more.

(Y/N) stepped away from the grave, unable to stand the sight of watching dirt slowly cover the twins any longer. He'd hardly slept, and the few moments of sleep had been filled with dreadful nightmares of what would come of him and his family. His uncle would send knights and soldiers out to help King's Landing, many among them being his blood. Gwayne came to mind specifically, his older brother with a level head on his shoulders but an eager desire to please their father.

The smallfolk and soldiers were always the first to die in conflict; it made him wonder if he'd ever see his brother again with eyes full of life.

"Father," Jace caught up with him, his curls bouncing and reminding him of Alicent in her youth when her curls had begun having some definition. He made a face and the tip of his ears turned a light red. "Apologies. My Lord." He corrected himself, eyes darting toward the knights and servants escorting them back to the safety of the castle. He was a little boy no longer but he thought himself too grown.

"What is it, Jace?" (Y/N) turned to him, studying the side of his son's face and being unable to stop himself from picking out the traits that reminded him of his family; a mesh of his mother and siblings' faces stared back at him whenever he gazed at Jace, from the curls of his hair to the slope of his nose.

"Is it not..." Jace trailed off, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lips. "Is it not unjust to bury Ser Erryk alongside the man who attempted to kill him, who attempted to kill you and Her Grace? It's despicable what he did, what he chose to do. And... for Ser Erryk to..."

Exhaling softly, (Y/N) looked forward. "Siblings are siblings but.. it's different with twins, Jace. You are born together, they are the first face you meet.. you are one soul, one heart, almost one body. I remember the pain of losing Corren, one of my older brothers. I can only imagine that very pain would be intensified tenfold if I were to hear of Alicent's passing."

"She is a traitor." Jace scoffed. "She placed the usurper on the throne. She wanted Princess Rhaenys to bend the knee to him. She-"

"Is still my sister." (Y/N) interrupted softly. "Just as Ser Arryk, traitor or not, was still Ser Erryk's brother. You may not understand as your brothers are too young to yet inflict any sort of betrayal... but it's complicated. There may be hate and grief and frustration but the love will linger.. the hope. You'll understand, someday."

Jace frowned at that, jaw tightening. "I'm not a child to be coddled-"

"You will always be a child, Jace, to us." (Y/N) told him, a hint of a dry chuckle following. His gaze drifted toward the woman standing on a balcony, watching them with curious eyes. Their savior; the woman who'd alerted the guards of Ser Arryk's trickery. "You will always be the boy with round cheeks, gentle waves, and a penchant for trouble. Now, head inside and check on your brothers."

His hand grazed Jace's shoulder before he parted from his son, making his way up the cobbled steps where Lady Mysaria waited, her hands intertwined before her and the hint of a smile on her lips. Truthfully, (Y/N) had expected her to depart after giving her warning as some sort of way of evening out the field. They'd kept Daemon's promise and in return, she'd helped them. Yet, there she stood, gazing thoughtfully at him before the echoing shrill of Seasmoke brought their attention out to where the dragon flew. He'd grown restless in recent times, dancing in the sky after his flights and filling the air with his cries.

"They are... curious creatures." Lady Mysaria spoke, seemingly captivated by Seasmoke. He hardly blamed her. He himself saw the dragons in fleeting moments, sometimes even allowing Rhaenyra to convince him to join her on a flight or two with Syrax. For the smallfolk, seeing a dragon close must've been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Seasmoke was a beauty with his pale silver skin but frightening in his bursts of irritation. He loved Laenor as much as a dragon could, (Y/N) knew that much. "Have you ridden one?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Before the youngest arrived, yes. Rhaenyra enjoys taking to the skies and she enjoys sharing her hobbies. I would not say it's a favored pastime of mine." His words drew a quiet laugh from her.

Footsteps filled his ears and he glanced over his shoulder, his arm immediately extending toward his wife to coil around her waist. Rhaenyra gave a quiet sigh and leaned into his side, fingertips brushing away a loose strand of silver hair. She appeared conflicted at first but she wiped the look off her face to address Lady Mysaria with a polite smile, eyes briefly flickering to the dragon in the distance.

"We were told you turned back from your ship to bring warning."

"I was not believed at first." Lady Mysaria stated, her head remaining forward but her eyes flickered toward them, obversing and waiting. The sea breeze ruffled back her raven locks, and she turned to look at them. "What is the life of a queen worth these days?"

"You wish to be rewarded." Rhaenyra mused, withholding a heavy sigh.

A hint of a smile graced Lady Mysaria's lips, playful in a way but not mocking. "As I would think you would wish to reward me." She said, her brows briefly lifting and voice nearly drowned out by another cry from Seasmoke. (Y/N)'s attention darted between the two, trying to focus on the woman before them, the woman he now owed his life to, and the dragon that'd once belonged to his close friend.

"What price would you set?" Rhaenyra questioned, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her voice tight and guarded, slightly worried. Maybe even paranoid. Now were hardly the times to owe anyone anything, not with war rearing its ugly head and castles being so easily breached. His fingers danced the curve along her side, tips pressing against the rough texture of her dress to ease her nerves. She exhaled through her nose and spared him a glance, but it did little to cease the way she toyed with her fingers.

"A place.. at your court." Lady Mysaria revealed, dark eyes watching them closely.

"You wished to free yourself from the webs of court, and yet now wish to find yourself a place in it?" (Y/N)'s brows dipped inward, perplexed. The castle had been breached by a knight with the sole goal of slaughtering a queen and he'd nearly succeded. Anyone else would've collected their things and raced for the next ship away from the Crownslands, away from the infighting. Lady Mysaria's shoulder lifted with a half-shrug.

"And you let me go. You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised." She said gently, a shadow briefly casting over them when Seasmoke flew in front of the sun. "I know the workings of the Red Keep and the movements of those who serve there. That is worth more than gold to you now."

Rhaenyra's lips pursed, eyes squinting when she spared Seasmoke a glance at his call. "What is our worth to you?"

"I would punish the Hightower for what they have done, to me and those who served me. But more than that, I know the struggles of the smallfolk of King's Landing. They will be ruled, either by you or by the usurper. And only one of you has shown yourself to be merciful."

"Well, I hope you do not confuse mercy with pliancy."

Another shriek, one much closer, interrupted the beat of silence that passed over them after Rhaenyra spoke. It almost seemed purposeful, urgent. (Y/N) watched Seasmoke's distant figure twist in the sky and dip downward toward the water, skimming it briefly before rising again. His flying seemed purposeless; no hunting, no playing, seemingly no enjoyment coming from it. Was it the equivalent of pacing? Or an attempt at communication without his rider to decipher it for them? (Y/N) frowned. Could it be...

"Seasmoke, my late lord-husband's dragon. He's grown restless as of late." Rhaenyea turned away from the sight and gave another tight yet polite smile, her hand rising to touch her husband's back briefly, signaling to him their departure. "We can not know why."

"Maybe he's lonely." Lady Mysaria said, and Rhaenyra halted, eyes darting back to her before turning to her husband.

Their departure from the balcony was quiet, with Lady Mysaria staring after them until she resumed her watch of Seasmoke. Rhaenyra stared forward whilst they walked down the hallway, her lips twitching into the beginning of a frown and brows furrowing. They had news for Rhaena but (Y/N)'s mind remained consumed with other things. Dragons and their riders were bonded, united as one in more ways than one; rumors and speculations the bond was emotional, possibly even bound by souls. Syrax had grown restless during Rhaenyra's early labor, shrieking and roaring within the caves she and the others called home. It was enough to prove there was something there, some sort of connection... one that would be severed after death.

His lips brushed over Rhaenyra's temple, his legs leading him in the opposite direction of their bedchambers. He needed more time with his children, now more than ever. His chest constricted with the beginning of grief.

They'd gone years without hearing a word from Laenor or his lover, as they'd agreed upon to avoid rousing suspicion, but Seasmoke's restlessness, his constant shrieks and cries... the chance it was his way of mourning was high. Lives were lost so easily, fragile things capable of breaking at any time and any place. And so far from home.

Rhaenys and Corlys had mourned their children for years and felt the turmoil of not having been there for Laena during her time of need. Lady Jane Arryn would take good care of the children but it hardly shook away the worries.

Could he survive losing another child, let alone one of the youngest? Could Rhaenyra? What would come of Jace if he lost Joffery, Viserys, or Aegon? His eldest son was already brash yet withheld his impulses, but (Y/N) knew the flush of youthful anger and arrogance all too well. It was all-consuming and dangerous.

Council meetings were wearisome. How his father managed to attend each and every one for decades was a mystery to (Y/N), a mystery he thought about as he sat in his seat and listened to the droning of the other lords. In a fleeting desire, he desperately hoped once the waters calmed, he'd be able to do as other consorts did and stay far from the Small Council and its squabbling men.

"Still no sightings," Rhaenys announced as she strode into the room, peeling her gloves off as she approached her seat beside him. It'd been early afternoon when they'd heard of an army leaving the gates of King's Landing, its destination unknown and unclear thus far. "No men, no horses, no ships... no dragons." She gave a quiet sigh, tossing her gloves upon the table and sitting down.

"Good. Then we must seize the hour and act before our enemy does. They have penetrated our castle walls and now the Riverlands are aflame after the Battle at the Burning Mill." Ser Alfred spoke, turning his attention onto Maester Gerardys expectantly. "How fares Prince Daemon with our army?"

Maester Gerardys grimaced. "There has been no word from Prince Daemon, Your Grace."

"Then we must press what advantage we do have."

"And what's that?" Lord Staunton questioned from beside Ser Alfred, eyeing him with a level of uncertainty (Y/N) could not fault him for.

"Dragons." Gods. "Send all of them out. Start turning Green strongholds to our cause and burn those who resist."

"No," Rhaenyra spoke up with a dismissive shake of her head, her fingers tightly wound together and lips slightly pursed. "If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. Fear of it is in itself a weapon. The Greens will make the same calculation."

Ser Alfred's dry laughter followed, mocking as if he were faced with a child rather than his ruler. "The value of a sword is not within its scabbard."

"We will secure victory with armies, not with dragons alone. The Greens understand that." Rhaenyra swallowed, her jaw tight from Ser Alfred's attitude and chest falling with a deep exhale. "The Vale and the North will send men. We must give Daemon time."

"Your Grace," Lord Gormon Massey spoke next, shifting in his chair and leaning back into it as he looked toward her with a small sniffle. "You have witnessed firsthand just how vulnerable you are. Prince Daemon is abroad, Lord (Y/N) is more skilled with words than with swords, and Aegon's factions are enraged at the death of his son. You have never been so exposed!"

"Perhaps it is time for you to think about secreting yourself somewhere safe while we remain here as a source of distraction for the enemy." Lord Celtigar proposed, and (Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that tumbled free from his lips. The lords turned their attention swiftly onto him, brows furrowed at his amusement but (Y/N) simply arched a brow, eyes flickering between them all.

"You expect Her Grace to turn and cower away whilst you do what exactly? Appoint a regent in her stead? Play pretend as children do so that you may indulge in fantasies? Age has truly emboldened too many of you, made your tongues loose and brains hazy, it seems. You act as if you are speaking to your daughter, your sister, or wife. You speak too freely in the presence of the Queen." (Y/N) inhaled heavily and leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table and studying them each. His tone remained icy, cold and distant whilst he addressed them to further watch them shift uncomfortably in their seats. "What do you think Her Grace's enemies would do if they caught wind of her.. 'secreting herself somewhere safe'? They would call her a coward, and what House would wish to follow a coward?"

"My Lord, t-that is not what-"

"And what would you do, Ser Alfred, if we were to send all our dragons away to fight and left Dragonstone vulnerable? The riderless dragons may be prompted to attack, sure, but without riders, they have no loyalty. Dragonstone's inhabitants would be left to face the same fate as Harren the Black or the Harroways of Harrenhal." (Y/N) raised his brows at the man, turning away when he parted his mouth to speak and leaving him to clamp it shut.

"You sit here and act like children who've been gifted their very first sword whilst simultaneously disregarding the very reason we have dragons at our disposal. The rulers of the Targaryen Dynasty may have been men thus far but we have seen women rule before, or have you all forgotten of Dorne? It was Princess Meria Martell who led her people against the conquest and won. Perhaps, instead of opening your mouths, you should open a history book."

(Y/N) scoffed softly and stood from his seat, prompting the rest of the men to stand as well with their heads bowed. "Oh, and Lord Massey," (Y/N) watched the man swallow before he lifted his head to look at him. "Nearly all of my brothers are knights. I was taught how to fight in my youth. That I choose words is not a flaw, for someone else may have chosen to cut your tongue if they felt slighted." He turned away, moving to stand beside Rhaenyra as she too rose from her seat.

Coiling her arm around his, Rhaenyra gave him a fleeting smile before looking over her council. "Let us not speak or entertain such an idea again. It'd be inconvenient amid a war to have to charge someone for treason, wouldn't it? If there is nothing else of value to inform us of, we shall take our leave."

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gameofthronesdaily · 1 year ago

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House of the Dragon Season 2 Episode 2

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christophernolan · 1 year ago

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The singers tell us that Ser Erryk said, “I love you, brother,” as he unsheathed his blade, and that Ser Arryk replied, “And I you, brother,” as he drew his own.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.02 | "Rhaenyra the Cruel"

#house of the dragon #hotdedit #gameofthronedaily #dailyhotdgifs #arryk cargyll #erryk cargyll #hotd spoilers #adaptationsdaily #gifs #*

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lemonhemlock · 1 year ago

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Another way the imbalance between the sides hurts the story is that it cheapens the impact of the Kingsguard twins. Erryk gets to express his views on screen, we know why he picked Rhaenyra, because he has become familiar with Aegon's debauchery and has come to loathe it. But what of Arryk? Why is he such a ride or die for Aegon? We don't know because god forbid the show allows someone to say something positive about Aegon. He is willing to kill his own twin for Aegon, but why? Because they have to hit the same plot beats as the book, but, with the show's characterisation and framing, it doesn't make sense or hit as hard.

If Arryk has no good reason for siding with the greens, it impugns on his character, reducing him to an uninteresting rule-follower. Why is it a tragedy if he dies then? He must have picked Aegon because he is a no-good misogynist who can't stand to see a girlboss win. Erryk gets up and demonstrates his regard for Rhaenyra, asking for forgiveness for committing suicide. His devotion to her is palpable. He is also the one who steals Viserys' crown for her, another mark of affection, a tremendous gift. For better or worse, he actually believes in a cause. It is Erryk's tragedy. Instead of being an equal, his brother is abridged to an antagonist. Rhaenyra is shocked by Erryk's gesture, she does not want him to die, but who will mourn Arryk? The writers won't allow the greens to mourn their own fallen to each other, let alone someone else - they still call Jaehaerys "the boy" or "the child".

#arryk is aegon's no 1 stan you heard it here first #arryk cargyll #erryk cargyll #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen #<- for filtering #hotd critical [storytelling]

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just-some-random-blogger · 3 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 20

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (cunnilingus), emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: shout out to mah girl @m-riaa who requested for sexy times. Yeah so if you like it say thx n if you don't LMAO | crossposted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

"Darling, don't eat that," you grab the wooden dragon the small boy was nibbling on and offer him a spoonful of cooled porridge. The boy stares at the spoon before opening his mouth. His sister beside him opens her mouth upon seeing this. You smile at her and feed her some porridge after.

After a few bites, they both go back to playing, quickly uninterested in your porridge. The door opens and, quickly, they are uninterested in their toys when their father walks in. "KEPA!"

You smile at Daemon. He immediately kneels beside you where you and your children had been sprawled out on the floor. He scoops up his girl, kissing her cheek, "ñuha litse, Alyrie. Eman ozmijegon ao olvie." My pretty Alyrie. I've missed you very much.

"SKOROS NŪMĀZMA NYKE?" cries the boy. WHAT ABOUT ME?

You laugh at him, watching him stand and jump into Daemon's arms.

His father catches him and nuzzles his nose into the young prince's neck, "hen rhinka nyke ozmijegon ao, Alaeric." Of course I missed you, Alaeric.

"Se muña?" Alyrie grabs Daemon's face, making the man turn to her then to you. And mother?

Daemon kisses the princess's silver hair before turning to you, "I missed her the most."

Your eyes open just before he kisses you. You rub your lips, finding them cold from the night air. Tears rush down your skin.

You slowly sit. The dark of night still seeps through your window and the sun had yet to rise. It felt like an omen, that you dreamed about your twins the very night their father left you... again.

Perhaps it was.

You feel sick; your mouth waters, telling that you will soon vomit. You groan and push yourself out of bed, walking to your vanity to smell some balms to sooth yourself. When the tanginess of your lemon oil harbors your bubbling belly, you sigh and decide to get dressed for the day.

Once you are in your grabs, you pin your hair into a bun. You stare at your reflection for a moment, warring the impulse to retch. You stand and head outside, eager to inhale some fresh air.

You startled when you open the door, not expecting anyone outside.

"Princess," they say in unison.

You look between your knights, heart pinching at the sight of them, "...my twins."

Arryk takes in your pale face, frowning, "should you not still be in bed?"

You shake your head, "I had a dream... a terrible dream..."

They both step forward.

You wipe your face before the tears even begin to fall. You groan when they reach for you, knowing you will continue to crumble at their affection.

You pull away and shake your head, "no... I..."

They immediately retreat, knowing to give you space. Erryk can't help the hurt he feels though, and wonders if it was overwhelming to have both of them here. Had he been alone, would you have still rejected his touch?

"I dreamt about my twins..." you sigh, feeling your throat tighten.

The Cargylls remain silent.

You sniffle and shake your head, "shall we head to the gardens?"

They silently come to your side and follow you.

You feel a pinch in your belly and groan, rubbing the area.

This alerts them. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, "I feel sick."

"Shall we go to the maester-"

"No," you reach for an arm. You find Arryk's and he immediately offers you support. You draw a deep breath, "I need fresh air."

Their worry does not wane when you reach the gardens. It had been a long time since they had seen you this way, both because you had slowly been getting better and that you had not spent as much time with them anymore. Once again, it was all your husband's leave that brought you crashing down.

The brothers share a look; so much is said in their silence. Perhaps only one of us should have come. Having us both present might be too much. Damn that Rogue Prince for doing this all over again.

You sit down by the fountains, taking deep breaths in and out. You rub your belly, groaning as you did. You bite your lip to hold back tears when you begin to realize how similar this scene was. You mumble, "I feel like I'm having a miscarriage."

Their stomachs drop at the thought. Erryk kneels beside you, taking your hand, and Arryk gestures, "you need to breathe, your grace."

You retch, "I'm going to vomit."

Erryk moves out of the way as you stand and run to the bushes, the sourness of your empty stomach gushes out of your mouth.

"Seven fucking hells," Erryk mutters as Arryk comes to your side.

You hear him call your name and you gulp, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Exhaustion and pain move you to tears.

"Perhaps you ought to break your fast," Arryk offers, helping you stand upright.

You shake your head, "I will only get sicker."

"You might be sick because you have not eaten," Erryk gently explains.

"I do not wish to eat right now," you blurt, gesturing in refusal.

Arryk feels you shudder as you sigh. He frowns and places his hands on your shoulders, "when was your last meal?"

"Before Daemon left," you mutter.

Erryk clenches his jaw, "so the wedding last night."

"You must eat something," coaxed Arryk.

"Please," you raise a hand, "later, I just-" you sigh, "I just need to breathe right now."

The twins are powerless against your wishes, no matter how wary they are of it. You sit by the fountain, beckoning them over.

Erryk sits beside you and Arryk shoots him a look, shaking his head in disapproval. Erryk mutters, "it's an ungodly hour..."

"And it is precisely why—"

"Who's going to se-"

"What if someone sees—"

"Please," you lean your head into your hand, "I just... let me have this," you look up, giving Arryk the beady eyed look that makes him weak in the knees.

Erryk glares to get him to submit and Arryk nearly shoves him because of it. Still, the latter sits beside you and you sigh in relief. You shift and lean against Erryk's breast plate then rest your legs upon Arryk's lap.

Erryk rubs your shoulder. Arryk sigh and clutches your ankles.

"I feel empty..." you mutter through wobbly lips.

The man behind you sighs, "you have made much progress, princess. You are stronger than you were last time."

"I don't want to be strong," you close your eyes, feeling tears run down your face, "I tire... tis always this way."

Arryk clenches his teeth when you begin to weep. He grabs his cloak and wipes your tears.

The three of your remain here until the sun rises.

You eventually yield to their urges of breaking fast. They eat with you but finish far quicker as you found it a chore to feed yourself. You barely ate half of your meal and it was already cold when you hear someone walk the door open.

The Cargylls, who were presently stood by the door, bow at the princess, "good morn."

Rhaenyra freezes at the sight of them, not expecting two... or even one, honestly. She feels rather conscious and grumpy about the one currently shadowing her. She walks into the room, eyeing Harwin who tails behind her, "I did not know you were so strangled, dear aunt."

You turn from your meal to the newly wed. She looks like she slept horribly. You push yourself up to curtsy at her, but she stops you with a hand raise before you could. You slump back in your chair.

"I figured you would be in better spirits because you left the wedding early," says the princess as she takes the chair beside you, "but clearly it isn't so."

You only notice Harwin at this point because he greets you then shares a laugh with the Cargylls.

Rhaenyra softly fumes at it.

"I apologize for leaving ea-"

"Don't be," she leans into her chair, "a fight broke out and the hall had to be cleared before the ceremony commenced."

You stiffen, "oh," you shake your head, "are you alri-"

"How do you do it?"

You watch Rhaenyra clutch your arm.

"How do you stand a large oaf looming over you, telling you what you should and shouldn't do?" she mutters, "two at that."

You pull your head back and steal a glance at Harwin. Lord Strong was a not of schemes or malice, though he was called Break Bones. You've spoken to him on occasion and found him to be rather gentle, but then again, most people were in fear you would break. You turn back to her, "I do not stand them."

Rhaenyra's brow quirks.

"I enjoy their company."

Her face hardens, then she pulls back.

"I am fortunate."

"You are," she crosses her arms, "he is controlling."

You knit your brows at that, "I do not understand. Is Harwin your ward?"

"As of last night," she groans, "my father fears I might encounter another act of violence."

"Ah," you slowly nod, "well, the king does it in con-"

"He made me wake before my usual hour," Rhaenyra snaps, leaning back into you, "I told him sleep until I mean to, and he said it would be good to practice a schedule for when I am Queen."

You furrow your brows at the petulant look upon her face but cannot help but chuckle when she crosses her arms. You hum and shake your head, "that is frustrating."

She narrows her eyes, "you don't agree with his reasoning?"

You shrug, "rest is a ruby and discipline an emerald. Both are valuable and I would not throw one for the other."

She thinks about your words for a moment. "I am irritated," she blurts, "I do not need yet another man to tell me what to do."

You lower your head, taking a deep breath, "I understand you completely," you offer her a soft smile, "but instead of fighting him, perhaps you can work with him."

Rhaenyra raises a brow.

"It's much easier to swim with the current, is it not?" you mutter, "perhaps the next time he persists on his way, instead of persisting on yours, you offer a middle ground."

The heiress gives you a look, "why should I offer middle ground? I am his superior."

Your smile grows sympathetic, "we are women."

Her jaw sets. She lifts her nose, "Iksan Perzys Ānogār." I am Fire and Blood."

Your smile widens. You rub her arm, "pār kostilus ao should botagon bē aōla." Then perhaps you should persist upon yourself.

Rhaenyra's proud expression falters. She was not expecting such a response from you. Your face shines though it was clear you were not in the best of conditions. You were earnest... and suddenly, she could see so clearly why her uncle was so besotted.

"Daemon has gone again-"

You tense at her sudden words.

"-but he does not desire that you suffer in consequence like how you once did," she explains.

You feel sick all over again, like all of what little you had eaten wishes to be free.

Rhaenyra leans her head, "he instructed me to be the keeper of your peace whilst he is gone."

Your lips part.

"I shall do so," she shakes her head, "not because my uncle commands me, but because I should..." she stands, "one day I will be queen."

She waves you off when you try to stand to regard her. You watch her walk off with Harwin following closely after. You stand and walk towards your wards with pursed lips, "she's so much like my sister." You shake your head with a huff, "I mourn their friendship."

They follow you walk out of the room. One offers, "we know not what the future holds. They might yet rekindle their friendship."

You say nothing to this.

You head to your sister's chambers.

"Praise the Seven," mutters Alicent the moment she sees you. You stop in your tracks when your sister runs up to you. She grips your hands, eyes solemn as she whispers, "I'm with child."

You freeze.

"The maesters say it's possible I have been for a few moons now," her breath shakes, "I've just given birth. I fear I might not be strong enough to-"

"Cast the thought away," you clutch her cheek, "you are the strongest person I know."

She speaks your name and you immediately embrace her. Alicent melts into your shoulder, taking in your scent. Your wards watch display a few paces back.

"I am here for you," you rub her back, "you have done well with Aegon and Helaena."

Alicent clenches her teeth and screws her eyes shut, but slowly allows her to relax against you.

"Auntie!"

You find Aegon running up to you.

"DRAGON!" calls the boy, tugging your skirt, "I want to see my dragon."

Alicent moves back as you crouch down to the boy, "you want to go to the pit?"

He nods, "I want to fly with Sunfyre!"

You chuckle, brushing his hair back, "Sunfyre is still too small to ride, my love."

"But I want to!"

"I know, my love, but you must wait until he's big enough."

"Did uncle wait for Caraxes to get big?"

You smile falters as you think of Daemon, but you catch yourself and shake your head, "Caraxes was already big when he was a baby."

Aegon's jaw drops, "lucky..."

You chuckle.

"Will you go to the pit with me, my love?" Aegon reaches for your cheeks, effectively reaching for your heart.

"Aww, of course," you coo, pulling him into an embrace. You look up at your sister, "may we go to the pit, sister?"

Alicent rubs her belly and nods, "will you embroider with me after?"

You agree with a smile, taking Aegon's hand as you come to a stand.

When you reach the pits, Aegon gasps at the sight of Caraxes. Since his illness, he remained sprawled outside the chasm of the pit, as he was loath to move.

"CARAXES!" Aegon excitedly points.

You turn to him with a grin, "Caraxes!"

You gasp when Aegon suddenly rips out of your grasp, bolting towards the blood wyrm. Thankfully, your wards were on high alert and manage to snag the boy before he could.

Twas Erryk that caught his arm. He clicks his tongue, "do not be naughty, young prince. You know the rules.

Aegon squeals in protest. If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he was being hurt, but you knew better. He whines, "muña!!!! Mazverdagon zirȳla dīnagon nyke ilagon!" (Maternal) aunt! Make him put me down!

Erryk raises a brow at the boy when he thrashes against him, pulling the knight's arm with all his might to no avail, "quiet. She will not save you."

"AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Caraxes grumbles at the noise.

Arryk raises a hand, "I'll save you, my prince!"

Aegon halts, turning to his savior.

Erryk watches his brother approach and releases him once the boy is swooped up. Aegon screams in glee when he is hung in the air upside down and thrown over Arryk's shoulder.

You chuckle at the sight, watching your nephew's legs fail behind Arryk's back. Aegon giggles, lifting his head.

Arryk grunts, "right, out of the pit then."

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Aegon protests through laughter.

Erryk winces, turning to Caraxes warily, "hush."

"No?" Arryk looks at the boy, "but I thought I was saving you?"

Aegon laughs and points, "FROM HIM!"

Erryk gasps, "me?"

Aegon nods, "he's villain!"

You snort, "Aegon."

"Ah," Arryk raises a brow, "I see. What shall we do? Should the princess punish him?"

Aegon grins, nodding his head.

You give Arryk a look.

"AUNT!" Aegon points, "PUNISH HIM."

You roll your eyes but comply, "Erryk."

Erryk turns to you, "yes, my princess."

"I punish you to live as a cat while we are here in the pits."

"Meow."

Aegon laughs brightly, suddenly wrangling out of Arryk's arms. Arryk puts him down and Aegon immediately runs to your skirts, "do him next."

Arryk gasps at the chubby finger pointed at him, "your grace! You betray me?!"

Erryk crosses his arms, "meow, meow."

Arryk growls with his hands curled into pretend claws, slowly stomping over, "I shall have vengeance."

Aegon screams and runs around you, hiding behind your skirt, "PUNISH HIM. QUICKLY!"

You huff and turn to Arryk, "ser Arryk."

"Hmm?" Arryk halts and clears his throat. He straightens his back, "yes, my lady?"

"I punish you to live as a dog while we are here in the pits."

"Wo-woof," Arryk sighs sadly.

"Meow, meow, ri-aw."

"Arf!"

Aegon emerges behind you, pointing a finger, "HEHEHE, you've been pu-"

"Aegon, I punish you to live as a bird while we're in the pits."

The boy bends his arms into wings, "tweet, tweet,"

Erryk points, "MEOW," then licks his lips while rubbing his belly, "YUM MEOW!"

Aegon, realizing his doom, runs behind you, "TWEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!"

The two run around and Arryk joins them, barking along as they did. When Sunfyre was brought out, Aegon immediately breaks character, "Sunfy- I mean..." he turns to you, cupping the side of his mouth, "can my punishment be over? Can I be a boy again?"

You chuckle and nod, "all your punishments are over."

"YIPEE!" Aegon jumps and runs off to his dragon.

That is, until Arryk snatches his arm again, "my prince, no running in the pit."

Aegon merely nods this time, "okay!"

Both of your wards are focused on the boy once the small, golden beast is upon him. The keepers try to keep the dragon calm, but he is equally excited to Aegon as Aegon is to see him.

Aegon fearlessly strokes his companion, gasping in awe of his golden scales, and Sunfyre makes a sound akin to a purr as he nuzzles into his hand.

"Naejot kisikagon zirȳla, ñuha dārilaros?" one of the keepers ask. Would you like to feed him, my prince?

Aegon nods eagerly.

The Cargylls allow the boy to act under the guidance of the keepers, remaining on high alert. You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn towards the other dragon in the pit. You frown at Caraxes, who was already looking, "qubirī run." Poor thing.

Caraxes huffs as you slowly approach him with a raised hand. You pet him gently, unsure if he was allowing you to do so, or if he was too sick to do anything about it.

He makes a noise that sounds rather painful. You frown deeper, "mirre iksis sȳrī. Daemon ēza geptot naejot dohaeragon ao." All is well. Daemon has left to help you.

He perks at the mention of the name. He lifts his head slightly, looking around the room for the said man.

Your heart hurts and you are immediately brought to tears, "oh you poor thing," you clench your chest, hating that he can't understand what's going on, "Daemon iksis daor kesīr." Daemon is not here.

Caraxes makes a sound, earning the attention of the others in the room.

The twins see where you stand and immediately become agitated. They call your name slowly.

Caraxes sees them and grunts in displeasure.

"Shhh," you shake your head, "lykirī." Calmly.

The dragon does not listen and grits his teeth.

The keepers have to intervene and Aegon's time with Sunfyre is unfortunately cut short because of Caraxes's restlesness.

When you return Aegon to his mother and he insists upon lemon cakes. You all have some cakes and tea as you and the queen spend the rest of the day embroidering.

By the time you're back in your chambers that night, you dismiss your wards and get ready for bed. Your servant girls help you dress and after dismissing them, you raise your brow at the sight of the Cargylls, still ouside your door.

You towards them, hands on your hips, "I've not met anyone as eager for work as you two."

Erryk merely ignores you, standing back into attention. Arryk offers you a nod, "we merely do our duty, your grace."

"I'm going to bed," you raise an arm.

Arryk stands attention, closing the door as they both say in unison, "good night."

You huff, grabbing the knob. They ignore you. You roll your eyes, "come inside."

They ignore you still.

"I have dismissed you. You are not my wards in this hour," you walk to your vanity and prepare your quill and parchment. You turn to the open door, "shall I write to Daemon?"

This grabs their attention. Both of them turn to you and soon, the door is closed and both of them are by your side.

You turn to your paper, "I think I should write to Gwayne first, berate him for ignoring my letters."

"I doubt he ignores you. He's likely preoccupied, as I hear there has been an issue of locust in the Reach," Erryk offers as he paces around the room.

"He is preoccupied," you mutter, "Lord Tarly tried to talk his daughter up to me."

"Mmm," Arryk clutches his hands where he stands beside you, "Tarly. It would be a noble match."

You scoff, "I doubt my father would want him to marry within the Reach. Perhaps he'll offer him a Dornish bride so he could sink his fingers into the south."

Neither of them respond.

You begin to air out your grievances to your twin, your grievances with his late responses... your grievances with your husband who was now in Essos.

As you do, Arryk recalls your interaction with Rhaenyra, and by extension, Harwin's interaction with them. "It seems the princess has a ward."

Erryk turns to his brother at the mention. You merely hum.

"Ser Harwin asked how we get along, especially since there's three of us."

"And what did you say?" you mutter, focus still on your paper.

"I said we were blessed to ward over such a kind spirit."

"You mean such a sickly spirit."

"A calm one," Arryk corrects, sauntering to the back of your seat, "the princess is apparently fond of instigating quarrels."

You look up at him, taking his reflection, "she is fire and blood. She instigates quarrels no more than a baby demands to be fed. She does simply what is her nature."

"Ser Harwin for advice on how to handle the young princess," Erryk adds, walking over to you.

You watch him come beside your vanity, leaning on the surface. "Mmm, pray tell, what advice did you give?"

"Patience," Erryk blurts, "I told him patience is the only solution to his problem."

You chuckle softly, turning to Arryk behind you. You gather your hair over your shoulder, combing through the dark locks, "and you?"

Arryk looks down at you, belly rolling at the warmth your features under candlelight. He sighs slowly, clenching a fist to steel himself, "I told him to submit."

Your brow quirks.

"Submit to her will... her wants," one of his hands reach for you, "her desires."

Erryk watches as his twin caresses your cheek. He licks his lips when Arryk traces yours with his thumb. Unwilling to be merely an onlooker, Erryk comes to your side, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.

This steals your attention. You turn to the other Cargyll, instantly finding your mouth trapped against his. Erryk kisses you gently, as if he feared placing any more pressure would break you.

Arryk breathes heavily and slowly drops to his knees. His hands brush over your lap, slowly bunching your skirt up. He grabs the base of the chair and drags you into him. Erryk's kisses shift as your chair does;his lips trail to your jaw and neck.

Your attention is stolen again when you feel hands on your bare legs. Arryk had hiked your dress up and was now parting your thighs to make room for himself between them.

"Wait," you mewl, reaching out to him, "I don't think I can take you both toni-"

"You do not have to," Erryk immediately mutters, "you needn't take either of us," his hands slowly brush across your chest. He squeezes one of your breasts, "let us take care of you,a make you feel good."

"Aye," Arryk blurts in agreement, "let us calm you."

"But what about y-"

Arryk makes your words falter by taking your shins and placing them on his shoulder. His steel is cool against your skin which burns hotter by the second. He kisses your knee while Erryk pushes your hair behind you, attacking your neck with his wet lips. "Do we not remind you enough to stop worrying about our pleasure?"

You bite your lip, holding back the whimper that threatens to spill as Arryk kisses up your inner thigh. You sigh, "I thought you said you submit to me?"

Arryk looks up as you, pressing your thighs against his cheeks. His eyes glimmer with longing, with adoration. Erryk shifts behind your shoulder to easier kiss you there as he pulls your sleeve down.

"Is this not submitting?" Arryk mutters.

You reach for his cheeks and stroke his beard, "I'm tried."

"Just one," he whispers, fingers eager to pull your bloomers down, "I will not tease you... not unless you wish it."

You whimper at the idea and shake your head.

Arryk heaves in an attempt to keep his breathing level. You still hadn't given your explicit permission, so he does nothing but watch as his brother smothers your shoulder with his lips. He mimics and kisses your thighs, "please... just on my tongue."

"Fuck," whispers Erryk upon hearing it.

You sigh and clench your jaw, finally nodding. You pull Arryk's head into your waiting core.

He wastes little time between removing your inner garments and pressing his mouth against your soft womanhood. Though eager he was to lap you up and eat you out, Arryk is gentle with his tongue. He is gentle with how he moves his lips and how he nuzzles his nose into you.

Erryk keeps you in place, body pressed against you, assuring your comfort, even if it meant the lack of his own. He massages your breasts intermittently and soon decides to pepper as much attention on the other side of your neck as he did the opposite. He breathes hotly against you, "smell so good."

Arryk hums, "taste even better."

You whimper when both brothers nip at you; they had a knack of doing things at the same time, even if unintentional. Your back arches and you slowly begin to swivel in your spot as the pleasure in your body intensifies.

The scratch of Arryk's beard on your tender flesh makes you groan. Soon, the wet lapping is loud enough to match the noises you were emitting.

Your peak is surprisingly strong and makes you lurch forward into Arryk's head. He steadies you though, as does his twin. Your legs nearly cramp as your body tenses with the hot and heavy sensation that bursts across your form. Both brothers give you one last kiss before carrying you into bed and tucking you in.

"That is your fortune."

He clenches his fist and teeth.

"Sadness bled from love. Misplaced yearning. Treachery strung from treachery. Nightmare become flesh."

His breath is low and shaky. He tells himself she's a quack but then again she knew nothing of him when he entered; now it seems she knew everything. "Fortune or reality?"

The soothsayer sat across him on the carpet shrugs, her heavily painted face twists in indifference, "two sides of the same coin."

"Can I change it?" Daemon snaps, liking no part of what he'd heard. This witch spoke only painful confirmations of things he'd tried so hard to deny.

She stares at him, scrutinizing his clothes. She was no fool, she knew he was noble, even with his tatty attire. She tilts her head, "for a price."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "of course," he shakes his head, reaching for his pocket, "how much more will you swindle out-"

"You must send word to your wife today or else she will never respond to you again."

The prince freezes.

The woman knowingly hums, "the same constellation that shone during her birth will soon shine. Her half will celebrate but she will not."

Her half? His jaw clenches. Gwayne? "Why won't she celebrate?"

"Death," she mutters simply, "everyone shall mourn during her day."

Daemon tenses, "death? Whose?"

She shrugs.

He grabs a pouch of coins and places it between them.

She looks at the coin but shrugs yet again, "I tell you only of what I see. A town of old shall rejoice for its heir will retrieve a bride. Babes will be promised. Her own lonely tears will drown the princess."

Daemon's face twitches.

The woman is unbothered by his deep bother. He lies on her side and waves him off, "go write to her and leave me now, prince. I tire."

"What should I write?"

She gives him a face, "it's nary my business what a married man and woman write about."

"B-"

"Waste more daylight by all means," she raises a hand, "may the gods grant you a bird that knows the flight back to King's Landing."

Daemon's huffs then exits the tent. Just as he remembers he left his pouch of coin, he turns and finds the tent is gone.

"What in the name of the god—"

"My lord!" a frantic voice calls. Daemon finds the captain of his ship, running towards him. He grabs his arms, "where have you been?! We've spent all day looking for you!"

The prince pushes him away, "do not exaggerate. I was merely gone for-" He turns back when he hears a bell tolling, brows furrowing at the sight of the setting sun behind the tower.

"I had to pay my guide to Norvos extra to wait and stay for us," says the captain.

Daemon looks out to the marketplace before him. Mere moments ago, it was bustling, lively, and stocked to the brim. Now, seemingly not a soul was present nor were there any goods at all for sale. He turns back to the man, mouth ajar, "I swear I had only left a few minutes. A woman had spoken to me about my wife... I had to listen."

The captain mutters something in his native speech. He shakes his head, "you be wary of witches," he spits to his side, "we might not reach Norvos at all if you listen to all the harks you hear." He shakes his head, "come now. We must aw-"

"No. I must write to King's Landing at once."

The man tenses and huffs, "and did the witch tell you do to so?"

"My heart does," Daemon says, walking off.

His eye twitches. Captain follows after him, "we waste sunlight... and coin! You can send her word the next stop ov-"

"It is my time and money you rely on," he shoots him a look, "I will spend it as I see fit."

And so it was.

Daemon sits upon a table just outside a tavern with a cup of wine, gazing back and forth between the captain and the guide, who were arguing in front of a horse stable. The scene is reminiscent of the argument you had when he left you in the pit to go to the Stepstones. The memory tries to choke him.

Beside the stable was a two-floored house and on the top window, he could see a mother watching her daughter play an instrument akin to a lute as she breastfed her babe. They had hair as dark as yours, which was why couldn't help imagine she was you for a moment... how happy he'd be to come home to something like this.

He turns to his paper and wonders if you ever drank wine when you wrote to him.

The bell tolls.

A septa lights some of the candles that went out with the wind.

You and Alicent had been knelt down in prayer in the temple. More accurately, she had been praying and you had been silently crying; your sister merely pretended not to notice.

The loud ring of the bells were what pulled you out of your melancholic trance. You sniffle and wipe your face, gathering yourself as much as you could. You push yourself up and turn to your sister, helping her up as she struggles slightly to get to her feet. She rubs her belly, the bump now visible.

"Perhaps we ought to stay standing next time, my dear," you say.

The queen disagrees, "I'm fine."

You freeze when she brushes your wet cheeks. You stare at her as he frowns.

"Are you?"

You slowly push her hand away, shaking your head, "I do not know. Does the news of the crown princess being with child not inspire you to weep?"

Alicent does not respond. In truth, she does not know how she feels about Rhaenyra carrying. She is rather numb, but she does not think she should admit it. This is why she changes the subject, "what of Daemon?"

You chuckle dryly, scratching your eyes, "what of him?"

"Has he still not written to you?"

You shake your head, lowering your gaze, "I would probably have taken this news better if he had," you chuckle bitterly, "I thought it would be different this time," you look back at her, "but here I am, wanting to return to Oldtown more than ever."

"Take heart," Alicent grabs your arm, "he said he would write you, didn't he?"

Your eyes water, "now that I think it, he never expressed the exact sentiment."

"Perhaps there are no birds to send correspondence."

"Alicent," you mumble, "you need not defend him. It only hurts us both." You gaze up at the ceiling, "I admit..." you laugh dryly, "I was not expecting any word from him."

That was a lie.

You were hopeful for letters, nay, you prayed for them... but then, you realized that change does not come easy and saved your breath.

But there was truth, and the truth of it all resided with Otto. It surprised him how sentimental Daemon could be, and how consistently so.

Even now, as sits upon his office chair, reading the most recent one, his throat tightens and his stomach sours at his sentiment.

𝔐𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢, 𝔅𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔨𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔓𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔰, 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔳𝔬𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔟 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬 𝔲𝔫𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢, ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔡. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔟𝔰, 𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔵𝔦𝔯𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶, 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩 𝔞𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢. 𝔐𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 ��𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔞𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔴𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬… 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔪𝔢. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔯𝔦𝔭 𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔶 𝔟𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰. ℑ 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔪𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢. 𝔏𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞t 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 ℑ'𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ𝔫 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤, ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔲𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡.

Otto nearly gags. He crumples the paper and stands from his seat. He walks toward his fireplace and chucks it in, as he did with the previous ones.

391 notes · View notes