we play an ugly game

THE SECOND DAUGHTER (X)

Ormund was leading the army of men from Oldtown and the closest bannermen as others were joining on the way. Vyrmora was flying above but Tessarion was placed in a big and spacious cage that moved on the wheels. The dragoness was still too young and small to fly for so long at once. Daeron grieved the fact his beast had to be locked but you made sure that the animal was not mistreated and each evening you allowed your brother to take her for a ride.

You were riding a horse on Ormund’s left side as Jon Roxton was riding a horse on your husband’s right side. After the bannermen had answered the call, Ormund had chosen Roxton to be his right hand. He was reliable, strong and wielded a sword made of Valyrian steel.

You wanted Daeron close but Ormund and you agreed the young Prince needed to be kept safe and his identity could not be obvious because perhaps the fact his hair was not silver could be an advantage one day. Therefore, Daeron was riding his horse behind you but he was not allowed to address you as sister in public. Most people thought he was one of the Hightower cousins.

Daeron was calling Ormund his sire as he usually would either way. You were addressed as Princess Commander.

Your troops that wore your personal coat of arms had a very telling name – The Dragon Guard. Their main role was to protect Vyrmora and Tessarion in the battlefield and to attack Team Black’s dragons. They dragged big scorpions as they marched and the very sight of the weapon was making your stomach twist.

You did not want to harm dragons.

But you knew that you would eventually have to.

Ser Nestor rode behind you, too, next to Daeron. Even though you had wanted him to live a peaceful life in Oldtown, he had insisted on joining you in the battlefield and protecting you like a sworn guard that he was.

Sometimes you would look behind you as you started into nothingness. Just like you did now as Ormund raised his eyebrow at you.

“Is everything alright?” He asked. “You keep looking back.”

“Every day we are further away from our children,” you pointed out, sadly.

“They are safe at home,” Ormund told you. 

“I know,” you sighed.

There was nothing else you could say. No words could express how much you missed Alwyn and Aelora. But Ormund did not need those words because he knew otherwise. He felt the same.

They both had been crying on the day of your departure. Both had thrown a tantrum and begged their parents to stay. Aelora had given everyone a handkerchief to remember her by. Alwyn had given away some of his wooden toys. 

You should have stayed back in Oldtown. You had a feeling some people judged you for not doing so. Vyrmora could protect the city and you would be there to teach your children, hold them when they had nightmares and kiss their heads. Yet you had chosen to join your husband because you knew he needed you more. 

And the greatest gift you could bring your children was a guarantee that their father would come back home. 

Tents were being put on for the evening as you walked across the camp after a short ride on Vyrmora to patrol the grounds nearby. Men stared at you with a bit of confusion but they all bowed their heads as you passed them. Apart from the whores following the soldiers as they usually did, you were the only woman around. And you were a woman in power. 

Speaking of whores, they were a subject of discussion when you entered the tent where you resided with your husband. 

“I do not want them around,” Ormund stated and Jon Roxton sighed. “I want it to be known that our army is the righteous one.”

“Soldiers need women to have fun with,” Jon protested. “If we forbid them to bed these women, we will cause rebellions. They believe that it is their right.”

“Whores can stay,” you shrugged as you stood behind Ormund and threw the leather gloves onto the table by which he was sitting. He winced immediately. “Bold Jon is right. Men need women. You have me and these poor lads will soon grow jealous.”

Ormund only rolled his eyes but you could barely see that because he was trying to keep his face away from you.

“Gods’ sake, you stink, woman,” he finally said.

“We are at war. I won’t be taking baths every hour,” you chuckled. “Are there any other issues?” You asked Jon but he shook his head. “Good. You might leave us now and rest then.”

“Yes, Princess Commander,” he nodded and walked out of the tent.

“Why do dragons stink so much? Horses are not nearly as bad,” Ormund coughed.

“You are being dramatic,” you chuckled.

You stood by the opening to the tent and held the fabric for a while so fresh air could get inside. As you stood there, you saw two whores walking by in their cut out dresses as they laughed about something. Suddenly, you felt insecure.

They were young and pretty. Feminine. Meanwhile, you had your hair braided, your face covered in small wrinkles and you were wearing a dragon riding costume, which contained brown leather pants, bronze armour piece on your chest with your sigil and a green velvet blouse underneath. Around your waist you wielded a long dagger and instead of pretty shoes you had been wearing in Oldtown, your feet now knew nothing but boots.

“Have you ever cheated on me?” You asked as you walked back inside the tent.

Ormund couldn’t tell what shocked him more – the question itself or the nonchalant casualty with which you had asked it.

“Wh-what?” He stuttered out as he glanced at you like you were crazy. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m just curious. I know most men cheat, especially mighty Lords,” you shrugged although your heart quickened its pace as you anticipated the answer. “Whores and maids count, by the way.”

“We have been married for over ten years, currently in the middle of the war and you suddenly think of me so lowly?” Ormund inquired. “That I would cheat on a Princess who smells like floral oils from Yi Ti with a common whore or a stinking maid?” 

“I don’t smell nice now,” you pointed out.

“We all pay the price while at war,” Ormund sighed.

“And what is yours? Having a wife that stinks?” You chuckled.

“Perhaps. Do not try me tonight, Daenyra,” he let you know he was done with your jest. “What did you see?”

“The road to Highgarden is clear,” you informed him in a serious tone now as you sat by his side and glanced at the map spread out on the table. You moved your gloves away to see better. “Which of the bannermen did not answer our call?”

“Rowan of Goldengrove,” Ormund pointed at their castle with his finger. “Tarly of Horn Hill, Caswell of Bitterbridge,” he continued, pointing at each castle while you watched with a furrowed brow. “Costayne of Three Towers, Beesbury of Honeyholt, Mullendore of Uplands, Oakheart of Old Oak, Crane of Red Lake, Osgrey and… Merryweather”.

You swallowed thickly.

“That’s a lot,” you said.

“You don’t say?” Ormund glanced at you.

“Well, some of them might still join as we collect them on the way. Like the Tyrells,” you smiled nervously.

“You seem to be so sure of them,” your husband squinted his eyes. “What did you promise them in return?”

“Nothing important,” you shrugged. “Nothing we have to keep, I mean,” you fixed yourself.

He nodded.

“No marriages?”

“With whom? I have not given you many children as Lady Estella was so kind to remind me. Aelora is betrothed already and young Lord Lyonel does not have a sister for Alwyn,” you explained.

You were interrupted by Daeron who ran into your tent while breathing heavily with his eyes widened.

“T-the baggage train. Someone set it on fire!” He announced.

Both you and Ormund stood up quickly and ran out of the tent. You could see the smoke emerging from the other side of the camp as you hurried there.

“It was one of the beasts, I am sure!” Ormund snapped at you as if it was your fault. Daeron followed you closely as he often would.

“I highly doubt that. Do not take your anger out on me, Lord Husband. I am not a dog for you to kick,” you scolded him.

He gave you a glance as you approached one of the knights that were trying to put the fire down.

“What happened?” Ormund asked.

“My Lord… We do not know… It happened so suddenly.”

“Was it one of the dragons?” Your husband inquired.

“No… Certainly not,” the man shook his head. “I’ve heard there was an intruder.”

“Intruder? In my camp?!” Ormund’s face was turning red from anger. “Find him! Fucking find him!” He kicked one of the wooden wagons nearby.

You and Daeron exchanged looks.

They found him in the middle of the night. He had been trying to flee but the only way out was nearby sleeping Vyrmora and he had not been brave enough so he had been hiding between the barrels of wine.

Lord Owen Costayne.

Despite the late hour, he was dragged and pushed down to his knees in front of you and Ormund as you stood outside your tent.

“Lord Costayne,” Ormund began, “what a shame it is to see you turn against me.”

“Against the rightful King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of His Name,” you added.

Lord Owen glanced at you with contempt.

“How do you sleep at night, Princess?”

“Very well, thank you,” you smiled slyly and wrapped your arm around Ormund’s. 

“You are a traitor,” your husband announced. “And treachery is punished with death. Especially now.”

“A traitor to you, a hero to somebody else,” Lord Owen pointed out.

“Do you really think my sister cares about that stupid act of arson?” You snorted. “Do you honestly believe she even knows your name or is willing to acknowledge it?” You asked him. 

“I did not do it for glory. I stand against this foolery because as a young man I swore an oath to your sister. It was one of the very first oaths I have ever sworn and it means more to me than my life,” he held his chin up despite being alone against all of you.

“Some people would call you honourable. I call that stupid,” you said. “Husband?” You glanced at Ormund.

“Death,” he decided.

“Wait, no,” Daeron’s weak voice interrupted you and you both looked behind you.

In fact, everyone did. Because who dared to oppose Lord Hightower?

Daeron blushed.

“What I’m saying is… We should give Lord Owen a chance to prove himself and save his life,” Daeron whispered shyly. “S-Sire… P-Princess Commander.”

“A trial, you mean?” You raised your eyebrows at the boy. He nodded and looked down. “So be it,” you agreed. “You were too scared to walk past Vyrmora, so I’ve heard?” You asked Lord Owen.

“I must admit her size overwhelmed me.”

“It is no wonder. She is rather huge,” you smiled proudly. “Well, if you do walk past her now, you are to be free,” you announced and let go of Ormund’s arm to take a step further.

Your husband looked at you as if you were mad. How sweet he could sometimes be, thinking you were a weakling that could not handle things by herself.

Lord Owen stood up clumsily.

“That is a generous offer, Your Grace,” he admitted.

“My sister would not be so generous,” you told him and led him to Vyrmora.

The rest followed as they watched with curiosity.

Vyrmora was not asleep anymore since the whole trouble at the camp generated noise that kept her awake. She was sleepy, though and squinting her eyes while relaxing. At the sight of you, she waved her tail and purred.

“Hello, sweet girl,” you greeted her.

The light of torches flickered as she huffed. It was a chilly night for the Reach but the moon was beautiful. You wondered how Moonfyre in Oldtown was doing. Her white scales presented themselves exceptionally beautiful on nights like this.

Remembering your beloved daughter, son and their dragons helped you to gather inner strength needed for what you had planned. You were their mother. Your duty was to protect them. And this man – Lord Owen Costayne – was a traitor. He was a danger. He was a threat.

“Go on, my Lord,” you encouraged him with a nod of your head.

He fixed the ripped cloak wrapped around his shoulders and began walking carefully, watching Vyrmora’s every movement. However, the dragoness seemed to be disinterested completely. She even yawned.

That made Lord Owen feel more confident as he walked faster now.

He reached the dragon and remained nearly unnoticed so he walked further and stared into the darkness in front of him, already sensing freedom.

“Vyrmora,” you addressed her. The beast’s green eyes locked with yours in mutual understanding. “Dracarys.”

She lazily turned her head and breathed out only a little flame that was enough to kill one man so close to her. Everyone gasped except for you.

Vyrmora feasted on Lord Owen and you turned around to face Ormund and Daeron. Your husband was smirking while his deep blue eyes were filled with adoration he rarely allowed to show in public.

Daeron on the other hand was trembling. Your smile quickly dropped as you approached your brother.

“Never again,” you told him after holding his shoulders. He shyly looked up to meet your gaze. “Never again, my boy. Traitors must pay the price, do you hear me?”

“Y-yes, Princess Commander…” He stuttered out.

“You must be brave now,” you reminded him and he nodded. “Good,” you added and leaned in to kiss him on the forehead.

You walked him away from the crime scene and made sure he went inside his tent. Then you addressed Bold Jon.

“Find Costayne men and tell them it is their last chance to bend their knee to the rightful King.”

“Yes, Princess Commander.”

As days passed, you encountered more trouble. Your camps were being raided at night and scouts killed. It seemed that Costaynes were not your only problem and your sister had more loyal followers in the Reach than you had originally suspected. 

You didn’t want to tell Ormund but you feared that this fact would change the Tyrells’ mind in the end.

“I do not understand,” he was looking at the map and sighing. “We were supposed to gather our troops while we were in the Reach. I did not expect us to meet any real enemies until we passed the Stormlands. Yet, it seems I have traitors right on my doorstep.”

“I suspected they would fear Vyrmora more,” you admitted.

“You don’t use her enough,” your husband pointed out as he glanced at you.

“She is not a weapon. Not in the way you think,” you explained, already growing irritated.

“Daenyra,” Daeron interrupted you as he walked inside. You looked at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Yes?”

“Would you join me for the evening prayers?” He asked as a blush creeped onto his cheeks.

“I…” You hesitated. “Yes, of course, my boy,” you nodded.

“I shall join you as well,” Ormund straightened his back and smiled.

You approached your brother and put your hands on his shoulders. When his uncle mentioned joining you, you could see that he panicked internally and then you realised that the prayers were supposed to be an excuse to talk to you in private.

“I think you should join Bold Jon in looking for the traitors,” you said. Ormund furrowed his brow. “Your men should see that you are actively participating in protecting them from the enemy.”

“Of course. That does not mean I cannot pray, though.”

“I am your wife, I shall pray in your name, Lord Husband. Gods will understand,” you patted his chest and kissed his cheek.

“Very well then,” he seemed to be pleased with what you were saying. He even fixed a loose hair strand and brushed it behind your ear. “Will you pray fervently?” He asked, looking deep into your eyes.

“For you? Always,” you assured him as you batted your eyelashes.

Ormund nodded and you were able to walk out with Daeron to take him to the special pavilion that was put out each evening for the soldiers to pray. Most of them did not.

It was empty now as well so you were alone with Daeron. The boy kneeled in front of the small table full of candles nearly immediately. You kneeled beside him but instead of praying yourself, you watched him with his eyes closed and hands clasped, whispering to the gods above to keep his family safe.

You smiled sweetly while you waited for him to finish. When he did, he cleared his throat and opened his eyes to glance at you.

“You weren’t praying, sister?” He asked innocently.

“I was,” you assured him. “Every day, every hour, I pray to the gods for them to keep you all safe and sound.”

A short silence occurred. You both stared at the dancing flames of the candles.

“Sister?”

“Yes?” You turned your head to look at him immediately after. Daeron’s cheeks turned pink when he realised that you had known his intentions all along. 

“Can I ask you something…?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded.

“Is it normal that… That… That I am scared?” He asked, so quietly that his voice broke. 

You froze, especially after spotting how wet his big blue eyes were now. You took a deep breath.

Poor thing… He was still a child, a young gentle boy…

You wished he could have stayed back in Oldtown. But he was nearly ten and six now. It was around that age when boys were learning what life and war truly were. And he was a dragonrider. Aegon needed dragons.

“Yes, it is,” you moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. “It is, brother,” you hugged his head and kissed him on the back of it. “It does not make you any less. True bravery does not mean being fearless. It means being scared and still doing what is right,” you explained.

Daeron leaned back and nodded, a little relaxed now.

“And Uncle…? Do I not disappoint him?”

“No,” you caressed his cheeks. “No, of course not. Uncle loves you so much,” you told him. “You are like our son, you know that, right?”

Daeron nodded shyly and looked down. He put his hand inside the pocket of his vest as he took out two handkerchiefs. One was from his mother with a letter A embroidered. The other one was from Aelora. She had embroidered a pink heart with D + A inside of it and two dragons cuddling each other on top – blue Tessarion and white Moonfyre. Your brother squeezed both handkerchiefs.

“I know I am lucky,” he mumbled out. “I am not alone here. I have you and Uncle. Many younger boys than me went to war all alone.”

“You will never be alone, Daeron,” you told him. “Your big sister will always be with you. One of the reasons why I wanted to betroth you with Aelora was to have all my children close to me forever.”

“All your children?” Daeron raised an eyebrow at you.

“You and I both know that you are my son,” you whispered as you put your hand on the handkerchief from Alicent. “It does not mean she doesn’t love you or that you can’t love her. It doesn’t take anything from her.”

“I am not even sure if I remember correctly how my mother looks,” Daeron admitted. 

“You will meet her soon, when we reach King’s Landing,” you smiled at the boy. 

A knight entered the tent that moment. You looked at him questioningly because it did not look like he came there to pray.

“We found out who was raiding our camps and killing our troops, Princess Commander,” he said.

“Who?”

“Ser Alan Beesbury and Lord Alan Tarly,” he answered.

“Have you caught them?” You asked and the man shook his head.

“We might have a bigger problem, Princess. Your Lord Husband wishes for you to join him.”

You nodded nervously and stood up before leaning down to kiss the top of Daeron’s head one more time.

Then you left him alone inside the tent and followed the knight through the camp in a hurry. There were many men gathered inside your husband’s tent now and they were all looking at the map.

“What is it?” You asked right after entering.

You took your position behind Ormund’s back so no one from the outside of the family would think that you were the dominant one in your relationship. Over the years you had learnt how to keep up appearances and clasp your hands in a humble manner while you stood behind him like a shadow.

“Rowan’s host is marching down from the north while Tarly and Beesbury gather their men to our south,” your husband announced as your stomach dropped. “They mean to close the road behind us and trap the Hightower host against the Honeywine. We have perhaps a few days before they make their move.”

“We… We haven’t even reached Highgarden yet…” you swallowed thickly.

“We have barely moved and we are already being attacked!” Ormund snapped, banging his fists on the table as the men surrounding it flinched.

You barely did, though.

“It is an inconvenience,” you agreed. “But perhaps a needed one. Once we put them in place, we will be unstoppable until the Crownlands.”

“How easy to say for someone who will be up in the air on her dragon for the whole battle,” one of the men scoffed.

Suddenly, Ormund’s face turned dangerously calm. Dangerously because you knew that it was impossible for him to calm himself down so quickly. No, it was simply a different form of anger. His pupils darkened and his jaw clenched as he approached the man who had said that about you.

“My Lady Wife, your Princess, will be up in the air to cover your arse, Fossoway,” he snapped as he grabbed the man by the collar of his cape.

Ridiculous fashion choice, by the way.

Lord Fossoway gasped and widened his eyes out of fear as others watched his humiliation.

“The only man who can question my wife is me,” Ormund hissed at him. “You, on the other hand, cannot slander Lady Hightower’s name in any way. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lord Fossoway nodded nervously. “I-I am sorry, my Princess,” he glanced at you. “Please, don’t make your dragon eat me.”

All men snorted at that and Ormunfd let go of the man as he pushed him away with contempt.

“Vyrmora is not fond of apples,” you smiled slyly at him and approached your husband to put your hand on his chest in a soothing manner.

The noises of the camp waking up slowly caused you to stir away from your slumber. Last night had been mostly anxious because of the situation your army had found itself in. But you had eventually fallen asleep in your husband’s embrace.

And now you were laying there, tracing veins on his arms and wondering how you would even sleep alone in Oldtown if you had stayed there. You could not imagine it.

Over the past years Ormund had left you a few times but it had been for a short amount of time. And it had never been because of the war. You had known he would come back each time.

“What are you thinking about?” He mumbled out without opening his eyes yet. You smiled.

“I am stitched to you, it seems,” you whispered. “Engraved on your body like one of your scars,” you moved closer to kiss his cheeks as he opened his eyes, a little surprised by the words you greeted him in the morning with. “If you went mad and decided to conquer Yi Ti or Asshai, I would go with you,” you added sweetly.

Your husband smiled even wider as he caressed your ruffled silver hair.

“I wish we could live for a few hundred years,” Ormund told you. “Because there is so much I would love to live with you through and one lifetime does not seem enough.”

“We would bother this Realm endlessly,” you teased.

He closed the distance between you and kissed you on the lips. The only barrier between you and the lively camp full of soldiers was the thick fabric of the tent but it felt even more exciting to know that technically everyone could see or hear.

However, before you moved any further, you were interrupted by a knight with flushed cheeks and a letter in his hands.

Everyone seemed to interrupt lately. War camps knew no concept of knocking upon the doors.

Mostly because there were no doors.

“What is it?” You sighed, sitting up as the sheet barely covered your body. The knight swallowed thickly and looked away.

“I bring news from King’s Landing…”

“What happened?” Ormund sat up next to you immediately.

Judging by the knight’s face, the news was not good.

“Rook’s Rest, my Lord,” he said, bowing his head at your husband. “The battle has been fought. Princess Rhaenys and Meleys are dead. Prince Aemond and King Aegon both took part in the fighting. Vhagar remains unhurt, but His Grace and Sunfyre were badly wounded.”

He hesitated before continuing as you got dizzy.

“The King lives but he is in no condition to command. Until His Grace recovers, Prince Aemond shall be a Regent,” the knight rolled the letter back and waited for any response.

“Aegon!” You nearly jumped out of the bed but Ormund’s arm kept you close to him. “I must go… I must see my brother!”

“You’ve heard the man. He will be fine… Eventually.”

“Oh, Aegon!” You shook your head. “No, no, I must check on him. He needs me…!”

“We need you here!” Ormund raised his voice, forcing you to snap back into reality. “Whatever is happening in King’s Landing must remain to be dealt with later. We are here now, trapped by the Honeywine between two armies.”

He was right. You couldn’t simply fly away. Not now.

You gathered all the covers from the bed to wrap them around your body as you stood up and dismissed the knight. With a white sheet around you, you approached the table and poured yourself a glass of wine. Ormund raised his eyebrow at you.

“That does not look like a healthy breakfast,” he pointed out.

You ignored him as you sipped on the wine while the wind getting inside between the opening of the tent brushed your hair a little.

“My Aunt, Rhaenys…” You said quietly. “We weren’t close but I liked her,” you admitted. “She could have been The Queen once.”

“She could not. She is a woman,” Ormund shrugged.

“I wonder why Rhaenyra refuses to take our Aunt’s life as a lesson,” you wondered out loud. 

“Some people choose blindness on purpose,” Ormund approached you from behind to put his arms around you and take the glass away from you while he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“I know something about it,” you smiled sadly.