Dreams didn't make us Kings.

We are as the gods made us. Strong and weak, good and bad, cruel and kind, heroic and selfish. Know that if you would rule over the kingdom of men.

❛  i won't apologize for the way i chose to survive.  ❜ ❛  i won't ask you to love me.  ❜ ❛  i won't be another thing you ruin and walk away from.  ❜ ❛  i won't be here when you finally decide you need me.  ❜ ❛  i won't be the reason for you to stay.  ❜ ❛  i won't be your second choice anymore.  ❜ ❛  i won't forgive you just because you finally feel guilty.  ❜ ❛  i won't hold you back anymore.  ❜ ❛  i won't keep setting myself on fire just to keep you warm.  ❜ ❛  i won't let myself hope for you again.  ❜ ❛  i won't let you do this alone.  ❜ ❛  i won't let you turn this around on me.  ❜ ❛  i won't make it so easy for you this time.  ❜ ❛  i won't tell you when i miss you.  ❜ ❛  i won't wait forever just because you're scared.  ❜ ❛  won't you at least say goodbye this time?  ❜ ❛  won't you be lonely without me?  ❜ ❛  won't you be sorry for once?  ❜ ❛  won't you look for me when i'm gone?  ❜ ❛  won't you miss being loved like that?  ❜ ❛  won't you miss me?  ❜ ❛  won't you regret this when it's too late?  ❜ ❛  won't you remember that i tried?  ❜ ❛  won't you tell me what i did wrong?  ❜ ❛  won't you wish you had said something kinder?  ❜ ❛  won't you wish you had stayed?  ❜ ❛  won't you wonder what could have been?  ❜ ❛  you won't admit that you hurt me because then you'd have to care.  ❜ ❛  you won't be able to fix this so easily.  ❜ ❛  you won't be the reason for me to stay.  ❜ ❛  you won't even look at me anymore.  ❜ ❛  you won't find me waiting for you ever again.  ❜ ❛  you won't get another chance.  ❜ ❛  you won't get to break me twice.  ❜ ❛  you won't have to worry about losing me anymore. you already did.  ❜ ❛  you won't keep using my love against me.  ❜ ❛  you won't know what to do with yourself when i stop needing you.  ❜ ❛  you won't remember this the way i will.  ❜ ❛  you won't say it, but i know you blame me.  ❜ ❛  you won't understand what you lost until i'm gone.  ❜

@hisroyalrogueness :: laena starter

"Poor Caraxaxes," Laena said as she pulled off her riding gloves and stuffed them into her belt, panting from the exhilaration of their flight. She gave Vhagar's neck an appreciative scratch, and her mount let out a pleased rumble in response, raising her head from beneath the water of the stream.

The look he gave her was long. Unhurried. The particular variety he reserved for statements that did not deserve the dignity of immediate response.

❛ Losing, ❜ he repeated, with the tone of a man turning over a word he did not recognise. His hand found Caraxes' jaw, and the dragon pressed into it with all the wounded dignity of a creature who had absolutely not lost and would like that noted for the record.

❛ Caraxes does not lose, ❜ he said simply. ❛ He occasionally permits a more interesting race. ❜

His eyes cut to Vhagar — the vast, ancient, and insufferably pleased with herself beast where she drank — and then back to Laena, who was wearing that expression he had come to recognise as the one she deployed specifically to unsettle him.

And it was working. He would not be saying so.

she's just staring at him, unimpressed. perhaps the young lady royce had ought to learn to control her expressions better – but alas. she hasn't the slightest idea why her dearest, most loveliest cousin aemma would ever consider this fool.

Gods, her again.

He could not account for it — what particular sorcery this girl possessed that so thoroughly undid his composure without her so much as drawing breath to try. One look. That was all it ever took. One look and something in him stirred like an ember caught by wind, hot and immediate and entirely unwelcome.

And not in the way that could be easily excused. The smile that found his lips was not kindness. It was armour, worn smooth by years of court and careful appearances — the prince's face, pleasant enough to satisfy propriety, but with the bite kept just beneath the surface where it lived best. Ready. Patient.

❛ Look what the horses have seen fit to deliver this fine summer's day. ❜ His gaze swept over her with the particular brand of disinterest that took considerable effort to perfect. ❛ You have the look of someone who has lost their way. I would offer assistance— ❜ a beat, his smile sharpening at the edges, ❛ —but I find I cannot summon the inclination. ❜

Aemma knew that she was not just a pretty accessoire to him, but she knew that to the court she had little value aside from bearing children and adorning her husband's side, especially once he became King. No one would expect her to have an opinion, or get involved in any matters of the court or state. A good wife was a silent one, though that was by far not the way Daemon liked her. Aemma was kind and gentle, but she still had a mind of her own and opinions she liked to voice. Perhaps not as stubbornly and insistently as her beloved, but still loud enough to be heard. It was a blessing to know that she had married someone who would never try to make her less than what she was.

"As we always do", she agreed and smiled softly at Daemon, pulling his hand over so she could press a kiss to his knuckles. As much as he craved to bloody his sword and explore the world on dragon back, she knew he equally enjoyed the quiet time spent with her. Evenings like this, where they just sat together, talked and laughed, or nights curled up against each other and exchanging tales until one of them fell asleep. In her heart, Aemma was still the little ten year old that had been sent to the keep to live with her maternal family, finding a best friend and soulmate in her cousin and going on adventures with him. Their adventures looked different now, but she did not love them less.

He was already turning toward her when she arrived — as though some part of him had been waiting, had known she would come.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The corridor felt too quiet, too still, the kind of silence that only exists outside a room where something irreversible has just finished happening. Daemon's face gave little away to anyone else who might have looked. To her, it gave everything. He crossed the distance between them without hurry and took her hands, stilling the restless motion of her fingers against the rings, and holding them steady in his own.

❛ He's gone, ❜ he said. Simply. No theatre in it, no performance for an audience that wasn't there. Just the fact, laid bare between them. He studied her face — the anxiety there and the question she hadn't asked yet — and something in him gentled.

❛ I know what comes next, ❜ he said quietly. ❛ The court. The crown. All of it, sooner than either of us prepared for. ❜ His thumb moved across her knuckles, slow, grounding. ❛ And I know you are worried. But I am not afraid of the throne, Aemma. I have wanted it long enough that fear seems a strange thing to feel now that it's finally here. ❜

He paused.

❛ But you, ❜ he said, and his voice changed, dropped into something rawer, his hand naturally finding where their child grew, spreading wide as though shielding it from this conversation. ❛ carrying our child into all of this, into everything that crown will demand of you — that concerns me considerably more than any council or any war ever has. ❜

He drew her closer, forehead nearly touching hers, the crown not yet placed on either of their heads, but already its weight settled into the room around them.

❛ Whatever they ask of you, whatever they expect a queen to be — you will not lose yourself in it. Promise me. ❜ A vow, plain and certain. ❛ I did not marry a silent wife, and I have no intention of crowning one either. ❜

His hand moved, brief and careful, to rest against her middle.

the bad blood between them is great : he had smeared it first when he denied her of their marriage bed. in hindsight, the humiliation was well-calculated. against an honourable foe, he has cast aside a sword and instead takes his wager on discarding duty, the very few things she had held dear against the turbulence of suddenly being whisked away from the vale, of suddenly being tossed into a foreign court, and to be made to sit by the good queen's table, and accept the offer the monarch has laid to her laps. the good queen had promised so much: virtue and recognition and standing. marrying daemon targaryen would further strengthen her claim to father's seat; no lord would dare go against a targaryen's wife.

and she had been so young, so impressionable. rather than the reputation she'd been promised, she had been further moved by the generosity the queen of the seven kingdoms had afforded her. she had held rhea's hands so gently, had fed her fruits and pastries the vale did not have, and seemed so interested in her thoughts and studies and even her hunting ventures in the thick forest of her homeland. she had said yes from that brief comfort the queen had given her in the absent of a motherly figure, and she had paid for it dearly.

daemon targaryen took her marital duty from her, and even if it'd been a slight towards his own grandmother, a protest of the life he clearly feels the old queen had robbed him of, it had still been rhea who had taken the burnt of it. the good queen never once comforted her again, and in her mounting anger for having her only worth to the targaryen used so cleanly then promptly abandoned, ( that worth being that the house of the dragon may now have some legitimate means in ensuring her husband will be kept in line, a laughable notion; rhea had known this since the first moment she laid eyes on him ) she too had ensured that her lord husband would never once escape the humiliating ritual of being married to her.

yes, there is much blood spilled between them – yet, despite it all, he indulges her.

so close like this, she must acknowledge that his height is impressive. certainly, there is a boldness and shamelessness in the way he conducts himself when he enters a court. an inspiring level of confidence and cockiness balanced in equal measure that it draws the eyes of anyone around, whether they like it or otherwise. this much, rhea knows with a familiar agitation. but she doesn't remember the last time they've shared a space together where all she could do is simply take him in. the only intimacy they've shared were almost always their hurtful fury. in his anger, she knows him best. in his quiet, she realises she must relearn him.

i would ask you to not make it a sermon, he says in the end, voice tight, and rhea almost smiles.

❛⠀you know me, husband,  ❜ she says afterwards, once she drags her eyes, a deep earth colour of brown, back to the fire. ❛⠀i leave the extensive lectures to the men in my court. i command. i do not deliver ... sermons.  ❜ the end of her words indicate a slight offence that he might think she would, but it is nothing as hurtful as it could've been. no. all so suddenly, it feels like they've at once exhausted all their anger. the good queen has passed anyway, and his injury on her has long scabbed over. rhea is mostly tired. this here, this new quietness, seems refreshing.

back to the subject,

❛⠀you've always revered your king brother, and he holds great fondness for you in equal measure.  ❜ that much is clear since they were all young and rhea had first met king — then, only the prince — viserys. besides the good queen, he had welcomed rhea so pleasantly. he and princess aemma both were delighted that daemon could be wed to a respectable candidate, and there could be another person to join their close-knit group. they were all in similar ages, after all, and aemma had told her once that their children are certain to be good friends, rubbing her stomach which was beginning to swell then. what feeble dreams it turned out to be.

❛⠀i am sorry to hear his health has worsened—  ❜ she says sincerely. and then, ❛⠀but you are not telling the complete truth.  ❜

there is no accusation in her tone, simply a carefully dissected observation. king viserys' health has always been poor ever since he ascended his throne. that had been one of rhea's frequent discussion, even if it's mentioned only in passing, when she and aemma would write to each other. and she knows, from words of mouth than anything, that the king's health has never met any long period of peace or wellness. surely this sudden news of his health isn't new.

Daemon was quiet for a long moment.

She had always been able to do that — see straight through whatever he chose to offer and find the gap where the truth was actually hiding. It used to infuriate him. Tonight, however, exhausted as he were in a way that had nothing to do with the road from King's Landing, he found he didn't have the energy to resent it.

❛ Not telling the complete truth, ❜ he repeated with a slight scoff, something wry threading through the words despite himself. ❛ You always did have an irritating gift for that particular observation. ❜

He turned from the fire to look at her properly. There was no court here to perform for, no audience to manage, and the absence of it left him strangely exposed — a sensation he was not accustomed to and liked even less.

❛ He sent me away because I confronted him, ❜ he admitted finally. ❛ About a matter that I have no need to nettle you with. ❜

A distinction that mattered, perhaps his way of doing her some form of kindness, though he wasn't certain she would understand his reasons. He had spent decades being summoned, dismissed, exiled, recalled — always at someone else's convenience, always according to someone else's timeline. This time, there had been no command. Only the knowledge, arriving the way bad news always did, too late and too sudden, and his own feet carrying him toward Dragonstone before he'd fully decided to go.

❛ He asked for me, ❜ he said, quieter now. ❛ Before that, I think he simply assumed I wouldn't come. ❜ His jaw tightened. ❛ He has assumed that of me for most of my life. And I cannot entirely blame him for it. ❜

He exhaled, something old and tired moving behind his eyes.

❛ The maesters speak in riddles designed to comfort rather than inform. But I have seen enough dying men in my time to recognise the shape of it regardless of how prettily they dress their words. ❜

A pause. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped lower, stripped further still.

❛ He's afraid, Rhea. ❜ The admission cost him something to say plainly. ❛ I have never once seen him afraid. Not like this. ❜

He looked at her, and for once there was no calculation behind the look — only the rare, unguarded weight of a man who had run out of better places to put the thing he was carrying.