❞ … ᵗʰᵉ ᴴᴱᴬᴿᵀ ᴼᶠ ᶜᴴᴵⱽᴬᴸᴿʸ

"Not right now, princess. Dada is very stressed."

» A FLOWER THAT SURVIVES EVEN THE HARSHEST OF WINTERS. « ‘tis a line she has come to know by heart, from a poem she had stumbled upon some weeks past. tucked under one of the cushions by a window alcove overlooking the blackwater bay, it sat in one of the keep’s more secluded corners, where the young queen had taken to retreating to whenever she felt the urge to play a tune. she had known right away, then — could tell from the tidiness of the script and the loveliness of the sentiment both : ‘tis the work of HER BELOVED KNIGHT. she had meant to return it, of course — to hide it, so that it might find its way into the hands of the lady it had been written for [ . . . ] and yet, come evening, she had pressed it to her chest and ASKED THE GODS TO FORGIVE HER FOR IT — to allow her this one thing. but [ . . . ] ❝ am i ? ❞

the poem [ . . . ] was it not for the woman he longed for ? who ‶ has inspired most of [ his ] poetry ″ ? she looks away, pressing her nails into the soft of her arm without quite meaning to. ❝ that is kind of you to say. ❞ cruel, too, she thinks, to hold her against a woman she could never hope to measure herself by. still, the ache of her bruise is fading, and though fresh tears prick at her eyes, the one that spills from his softens her expression. ❝ MAY THE SUN RISE UPON US BOTH. ❞ she holds her handkerchief out to him then, urging him to take it with that weak little smile of hers. ❝ i fear i made rather a mess of the embroidery. ❞ ‘TIS A LIE, of course, but easier by far to let him think she wishes to be rid of it. she moves past him then, turning in the direction of her chambers, her pace slow enough that he might find HIS PLACE BESIDE HER.

thankfully, the corridor sits empty around them. aegon had made a habit of dismissing the workers on the evenings she would be made to serve him [ . . . ] ‶ SERVE HIM. ″ she knows him well enough to know he intends to find his pleasure in the arms of another woman, and yet [ . . . ] arms folding tight around herself, she turns to the other. ❝ i know your time is not easily spared [ . . . ] but i would be most grateful if you could stand guard tonight SO THAT I MIGHT SLEEP. ❞ indeed, ‘tis childish, but the thought of waking to find her brother looming over her in the dead of night fills her with a sense of dread she cannot reason away. ❝ i have no fault to find with the other guards, but i [ . . . ] well, i — I FEEL SAFE WITH NONE BUT YOU. ❞

⚔︎          ·              ❝  YOU  ARE  ❞,  HE  AFFIRMS  ONCE  MORE,  voice  steady  and  sure  as  ever.  never  would  he  want  her  to  doubt  the  wonderful  person  that  she  is.  oh,  the  things  she  does  to  him  without  even  being  aware  of  it  —  aware  of  the  way  he  shivers  whenever  he  gets  to  be  in  her  presence,  though  not  from  the  cold.  no,  never  from  the  cold.  from  the  way  she  smiles  at  him  so  gently,  in  such  a  way  that  he  wants  to  preserve  it  forever,  lock  it  in  a  bottle  and  lay  it  close  to  his  heart  when  he  feels  lost  and  lonely  at  night.  his  heart  she  owns,  and  yet,  his  queen  is  all  she  shall  ever  be.

unable  to  answer  with  anything  but  a  shameful,  little  croak,  he  inclines  his  head  in  agreement.  may  the  sun  rise  upon  them  both  —  though  baelor  cares  not  for  his  own  happiness,  and  all  the  more  for  hers.  if  it’d  make  her  life  an  easier  one,  filled  with  JOY  AND  FREEDOM,  he  would  gladly  give  his  own  away.  what  is  there  to  live  for,  anyway,  besides  the  scarce  moments  alone  with  his  queen?  no  wife  waiting  for  him  after  a  day  of  serving the realm,  no  children  running  into  opened  arms,  a  brother  who  despises  his  very  existence  and  more  foes  than  friends  in  this  nest  of  vipers.  (  enviers,  some  might  say.  )  he  takes  the  queen’s  handkerchief  with  a  tired  smile,  still  not  trusting  his  voice,  and  instinctively  puts  it  to  his  nose,  inhaling  softly  —  just  the  slightest  of  sniffs,  and  yet,  enough  to  make  him  blush  wildly  under  his  beard.  tears  of  embarrassment  conquer  his  eyes,  but  before  they  can  follow  the  one  that  had  found  its  way  across  his  cheek,  he  wipes  them  away  with  the  handkerchief  and  then  tucks  it  under  his  armor.

Ira Parker thought we wouldn't notice his blue eye.

Bruh.

By the gods. Imagine Baelor glaring at you? I'd yeet my ass into Blackwater Bay.