we play an ugly game

THE SECOND DAUGHTER (IX)

You were sitting by the training yard with Aelora as you watched Ormund train Alwyn and Daeron. Ser Gwayne was already preparing himself and his men to depart Oldtown any day now just like his father had asked him to do.

Aelora was devastated at the news. She was very close to her uncle and now she focused on embroidering him a handkerchief that would remind him of home. It was a complicated project, which required your assistance. There was a watchtower with four dragons surrounding it – Vyrmora, Tessarion, Moonfyre and Myrax. Apart from that, your daughter wanted to embroider the whole family for Ser Gwayne to look at whenever he would feel homesick. She struggled the most with her own portrait because she had to embroider a head full of ginger hair but with a silver thread between.

Alwyn was still practising with a wooden sword. Mostly because he was not trusted with steel yet. Meanwhile, Daeron and Ormund were having a friendly sparing. The clinking sounds filled the air alongside the groans of effort and Alwyn’s screams as he would pretend to be in the middle of the battlefield.

The sparing ended and with the corner of your eye you spotted Daeron landing in the mud. Ormund was not an easy teacher. He was not letting his students win just to make them feel good about their skills. Instead, he was pointing out every mistake. You assumed that was exactly what he was doing at the moment, after helping your brother to stand up as he whispered something to his ear.

Daeron nodded, clasped his hands behind his back as usual and then he approached you while making wide eyes.

“Y-Your Grace,” he addressed you. You looked up at him as if he was crazy.

“What are you saying, brother?” You asked.

Aelora glanced at her betrothed with a frown and a very visible lack of understanding.

“Uncle said you wanted to be addressed as Your Grace from now on,” Daeron reminded you.

You smirked. Out of all the children, for some reason it was Daeron that seemed to be the most stressed about the current marital tension between you and his uncle. Alwyn and Aelora did not seem to care as if it was something common for you and Ormund to argue. Because it was, that was true. But Daeron should have known it as well. Yet each time it happened, he acted as if his whole world was crumbling down.

Perhaps it was caused by the fact he followed both you and Ormund around like a lost puppy. And whenever you and your husband were falling out, he had no idea where to lay his loyalty and obedience.

“You are my brother, Daeron. You are my blood and my equal. You must not address me as Your Grace,” you assured him. “Lord Hightower, however,” you added loud enough for Ormund to hear as your husband sighed in the background, “should know how to speak to his overlords.”

Daeron swallowed thickly.

“Either way, sister,” he hesitated, “Lord Hightower wanted me to ask whether you would join him in his study after dinner.”

“If Lord Hightower asks me himself,” you teased.

You immediately felt bad when you realised Daeron had gotten even more stressed. His lower lip trembled.

“Daeron, why are you nervous?” You asked. “Just go and tell him.”

He nodded and turned around to walk up to Ormund. Aelora squinted her mismatched eyes at you.

“Why are you so cruel to daddy, mummy?” She asked. “Do I have to be like this with Daeron, too?”

“No!” You answered, perhaps a bit too harshly at first. “No, Aelora, you must not be like this with Daeron. This is between your father and I,” you explained. “Every man needs to be handled differently. Daeron has a gentle heart.”

“But daddy has a gentle heart, too,” she pouted and you fought very hard not to laugh.

You spotted Ormund approaching you hesitantly.

“Daenyra…” He started and you gave him a scolding look.

“Ekhem.”

He froze and clenched his jaw as you granted him a smirk. He could not believe you were actually making him do this. He felt humiliated.

“Your Grace…” He addressed you with a bow of his head.

“Now, that is better, Lord Hightower. What is troubling you?” You inquired.

“I was wondering if you would join me in my study after dinner, Princess,” he dragged out every word as if it was bringing him pain to say them.

Daeron was standing beside him and watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. Alwyn was still screaming in the background while playing with his sword, completely unbothered.

“Daeron, what do you think of my handiwork?” Aelora asked her betrothed and Daeron relaxed a little as he leaned over to see the handkerchief better.

You smiled gently at them after realising that your daughter had done this to distract him.

“It is beautiful,” Daeron assured her.

And seeing them like this made you look at your husband once more but this time with much kinder expression.

“I will join you, Lord Husband,” you nodded at Ormund and even granted him a little smile.

“Very good then,” he nodded. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Hightower, you flatter me but there is no need to keep addressing me as such,” you teased and he tilted his head with a smile.

“I am glad to hear that,” he admitted.

At this moment Alwyn crashed into him with a loud scream that caused everyone to look at the boy as if he was crazy. He chuckled as if nothing had just happened.

If his sword was not wooden, Ormund would probably be bleeding at the moment.

“What was that?” Your husband asked the boy.

“A surprise attack, father!” Alwyn grinned, proudly.

“What kind of knight attacks from behind? Especially his own father?” Ormund scolded him and Alwyn’s smile dropped.

“This is exactly why you are not allowed to wield a steel sword yet,” you pointed out and Alwyn sighed.

“I am sorry,” he looked down. “I was jesting.”

Ormund took him back to the training yard and you glanced up at Daeron who was now standing over Aelora and watched her embroider.

“Daeron,” you said and he glanced at you, “go change into dragon riding costume. We are going to fly.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Go,” you clapped your hands and he nodded before hurrying inside the watchtower.

“Me too, mummy?” Aelora asked as her eyes sparkled.

“No, not this time,” you shook your head and caressed her hair. “Besides, you must finish the handkerchief. Ser Gwayne is departing on the morrow.”

“On the morrow?” She whined. “That is too early.”

Vyrmora circled around Tessarion as if she was making sure the young dragon’s posture was proper. Just like you were checking if Daeron was presenting himself dignified enough in the saddle.

“We will go hunt now,” you told him.

“Why now?” He asked.

“Because it is time for you to hunt yourself,” you told him as his eyes widened as usual. “I cannot hunt for you all the time. What if I’m not around? You need to know how to feed your dragon,” you told him. “Now, follow me,” you ordered.

Tessarion was flying behind Vyrmora like a blue shadow. But when you reached the forest, you ordered your beast to stop. Daeron looked at you questioningly.

“I will be watching over you from here,” you told him. “Go and hunt yourself.”

“But–”

“Tessarion is smaller,” you interrupted him. “It will take her only a few animals to satisfy her hunger. You can do it,” you encouraged him.

He nodded, unsurely. And then you watched him dive into the forest, flying right above the trees as he searched for the wild animals that did not flee in time. You could spot a few deers and boars from up there and Daeron eventually noticed them as well. He ordered Tessarion to fly closer and the dragoness did that. Yet she did not breathe fire.

“She’s not hungry it seems!” Daeron looked up as he let you know.

“She is,” you assured him. “But she needs your command. You are her rider, she won’t breathe fire without your guidance,” you told him.

It was not entirely true. He was right about the fact Tessarion was not exactly hungry. You had been hunting with her and Moonfyre only a day earlier, right after your comeback from King’s Landing.

But it did not matter at the moment. What mattered was the lesson Daeron was supposed to receive.

“Say it, Daeron!” You shouted from the skies.

The boy swallowed thickly as he looked down at the innocent animals between the trees. However, he knew that his dragon needed to be fed. And he loved his dragon.

“D-Dracarys,” he ordered and Tessarion breathed fire.

It was the first time he had said this command himself. All the time before it had been you and Vyrmora hunting and then leaving some animals behind for Tessarion and Moonfyre.

Therefore, for the first time in his life he found himself so close to the flames. He leaned back at first, scared of the heat as it reached his own body.

“Very good!” You praised him and these words finally brought a smile to his face.

He wanted to please you and his uncle. He wanted to bring you pride and to prove his worth.

Tessarion landed on her feet and began her small feast while you were circling above them with a stern expression on your face.

Some part of you was in pain for doing this but you knew that it was only for the better. You had to prepare your brother for what was coming.

And the war was the thing that was creeping in closer and closer with each day, seeping inside between the creaks of the wood and gaps between the stone.

You joined Ormund in his study after dinner just as he had asked you to. The moment you entered and the doors closed behind you, he stood up and approached you to cup your face and give you a proper kiss that you two had not shared since your arrival from King’s Landing.

You gasped at first, surprised, but then you gave in and wrapped your arms around him to pull him even closer.

You had spent the previous night in your chambers so he truly had not been around you much for the past few days. But denying him yourself was no longer fun since you were missing him as well. And to punish him with your distance even further would be cruel since turbulent times were coming.

“Do not do that again,” he whispered after breaking the kiss and looking down at your face lovingly.

“You know that I will,” you chuckled. “Now, did you call me here for something important or just to bend me over your desk?” You patted his chest as you fluttered your eyelashes at him.

“Both, actually,” Ormund smirked and led you towards his desk. There was a letter with a seal from Highgarden laying open on the wooden surface. “I wrote to my bannermen yesterday. Estella Tyrell, mother of Lord Lyonel and his regent, refuses to send her men.”

“Why so?” You raised an eyebrow at him while glancing at the elegant letters on the parchment. 

“Because Lyonel is only a child and she wishes to keep him away from the conflict,” Ormund snorted. 

“How privileged of her to be able to do that while plenty of children will die as a result of this war,” you commented. “This is unacceptable. They are a House too important with an army too big to refuse to participate.”

“Perhaps it is only her excuse for us but she will participate…” Ormund told you as he stood right behind you. “She is a woman who was given too much power. It seems natural that she would sympathise with your sister…”

“I am a woman in the position of power, too,” you reminded your husband.

“It is different,” he mumbled out and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“How so?”

“You have the mind of a man,” he whispered into your ear. It was nearly funny how he truly thought this was a compliment.

“Thankfully, the body of a woman,” you teased.

“Thankfully,” Ormund squeezed your waist.

“I will deal with the Tyrells,” you assured him but he was not listening anymore.

After all, he knew that you would. There had been no single moment where he had doubted that. Instead, he was pushing your dress up already as his knee nudged your thighs open.

Aelora was in tears as her shaky fingers handed Ser Gwayne the handkerchief.

“Oh, my dear…” He squeezed the gift and looked at her. “It is very kind of you. Thank you so much.”

“Please, must you leave?” She asked and hugged him.

Gwayne chuckled nervously and kissed the top of her head. 

“I will be back. I promise,” he told her.

“With a wife perhaps,” you teased with a gentle smile. “It is time for you to settle down as well.”

“I would love that!” Aelora nodded. “I will take care of your little babes, Uncle.”

Gwayne blushed at those words and you approached him to give him a hug, too.

“Be careful,” you told him. “And you know where to find me if you ever need my help.”

Your husband’s cousin nodded at you.

Alwyn ran to him next and hugged him. Gwayne crouched down to give the boy a proper hug.

“Mummy, can I lend Uncle Gwayne my dragon?” He asked you and everyone laughed.

“No, darling. Myrax would not listen to Uncle Gwayne,” you explained as you caressed your son’s silver hair.

Ormund only nodded at his cousin and patted his arm.

“Good luck,” he said. “May The Seven watch over you.”

Daeron was the last in line to bid his farewell. His big eyes were wet but he shed no tears. Gwayne sighed and put his arms around the boy.

“You are a man now,” he said. “Nearly six and ten.”

Daeron nodded.

“You will be alright, my boy,” Gwayne assured him.

“Must you leave?” Daeron inquired.

His uncle only gave him a sad smile.

Then he looked at his family one more time and nodded before jumping onto his horse and riding away to join the men he would be leading towards King’s Landing. Alwyn was running behind him for a while but then he gave up and just stood there while he waved.

You looked down, cleared your throat and put on your leather gloves as you were wearing your dragon riding clothes already.

“It is time for me now as well,” you said. “I should be back by dinnertime.”

“Where are you going, sister?” Daeron asked you.

“I must deal with one thing,” you told him but you could see he was not satisfied with the answer. “We cannot be telling you everything,” you sighed and kissed him on the forehead.

A few reckless ginger hair strands had gotten out of his simple hairdo, so you fixed them by brushing them out of his face and securing them with a small hair fastener in the back of his head that had loosened before.

“Yes, sister,” he nodded and his words brought you back to reality.

Sometimes you were forgetting that he was not your real son and you were his sister not his mother even though he had called you that by accident a few times when he had been a child.

You caressed Aelora’s cheeks that were wet from tears and nodded at a knight standing nearby with a horse. He handed you the reins and you jumped on top of the animal to ride to the pit.

You saddled up Vyrmora and ordered her to fly to Highgarden.

You had to land right outside of the city gates. You did not want to crush any buildings or kill any citizens by accident for it would not help your cause. The guards gathered as they were staring up with fear in their eyes.

“I came here to speak to Lady Estella Tyrell,” you informed them.

You waited half an hour in the saddle before the city gates finally opened and Lady Tyrell walked out alongside a dozen knights. It brought a smile to your face. What did a dozen knights mean compared to Vyrmora?

You did not come to kill her, though, so you slid off of your dragon’s back and gracefully landed on the grass before straightening up and approaching the Lady with your dragon still behind you, squinting at your interlocutors.

“Princess Daenyra,” Lady Tyrell greeted you with a head nod. “Forgive me, I was not prepared to receive guests, especially of such importance,” she smiled, trying to hide her nervousness but she kept fidgeting with her fingers, which betrayed her.

“Lady Estella,” you nodded at her and clenched your jaw. “I should be the one apologising for my intrusion,” you began smoothly. “However, I do believe you sent us the wrong version of the letter. I understand that perhaps your decision wavered in the first place… But I am sure that in the end you wanted to send us the letter about supporting our army with your men,” you tilted your head and so did Vyrmora behind you, mimicking your expressions. That detail clearly made Lady Tyrell uneasy as her smile dropped.

“M-My Princess… You must understand… My son, Lyonel, is only a child. I cannot risk his life–”

“I have children, too,” you interrupted her. “And I must risk their lives whether I like it or not because war does not choose. War calls. And you refuse to answer.”

“I must admit this conflict is not something I personally care about. I know it is your family, Princess, but to me it makes no difference if it is your sister or your brother ruling over me,” Lady Estella finally dropped her false courtesy as she spoke plainly. “If you had anything to offer…” She lowered her voice. 

“What would you want?” You asked.

Not that you were willing to grant her anything she asked for. But you were simply curious what was on her mind.

“Well, I cannot ask for Lady Aelora’s hand in marriage for my son and you bore no more daughters,” Lady Estella pointed out.

“Aelora is betrothed,” you reminded her.

“Exactly. To her own uncle,” she squinted her eyes at you as she winced slightly. “Besides, she is too old for Lyonel. Wives should be younger than their husbands. If only you had more children to offer… But we both know you bore only two, my Princess,” she bowed her head.

You gritted your teeth.

“I bore a daughter, however. You did not. Otherwise, my son would be available,” you lied.

You would never betroth your son with a daughter of a woman of this sort.

And by this sort you meant that she was rebelling against you.

“Indeed,” Lady Estella raised an eyebrow and Vyrmora roared. She immediately took a step back as she frowned while her knights reached for the swords.

“Do forgive me, she is getting bored,” you laughed. “And when she does… I must find her something to do,” you threatened playfully with a sparkle in your eye.

“Matrimony is not the only thing that would convince me,” Lady Tyrell quickly changed her approach. “There are other matters. The tax we must pay for using your harbour… Why must we pay it at all? As Tyrells, we are your overlords. Meanwhile the tributes you give us each moon are the smallest out of all the Houses of the Reach. It is an odd thing to me, considering how rich Oldtown is. Another matter is–”

“That’s enough,” you interrupted her, sternly. “Is it not a reward enough that I am not burning your city?”

Lady Estella laughed nervously.

“You certainly must be jesting, Princess, although I do find the jest inappropriate. You cannot just… burn Highgarden!”

She was truly appalled and you found that reaction funny. Did she really think you cared that much about her or her city? Even the citizens within the walls? They would all be traitors if she did not change her mind.

“Forgive my jesting,” you smirked ironically. “You are right, it is inappropriate. With a big dragon behind me, one might think it was a threat instead of a tease.”

Long silence occurred. You could see she was scared and so were her knights. 

It felt incredibly powerful to stand there alone against all of them and yet be the master of their fate.

One person should never be given this amount of power.

But the source behind it was not coming from your spirit. It was standing behind you and casting a shadow over the field as it roared and huffed.

“We will lower the harbour tax,” you broke the silence. You knew there was no point in forcing her to change her mind with fear. That was no guarantee of loyalty. “Our tributes will be bigger once the war ends. I will see to it that Tyrell merchants will have first leave to sell their grain through Oldtown and I will see that no foreign merchant receives a better price for the same cargo. And whatever grain the Reach cannot sell elsewhere, Oldtown will buy at a price agreed upon before it leaves your fields,” you promised her. “I am not asking you to bleed for The King out of love. I am offering you prosperity beneath his crown. Wait and see what my sister will bring but I doubt you will be half as pleased.”

What you had offered was generous but life with Ormund had taught you one thing – promises did not have to be kept. There was no punishment from the gods for not fulfilling them. And just like you had told Daeron not so long ago,  words were nothing but tools to achieve one’s goals.

Every promise given had a way out of it.

“I must admit the offer is rather excessive,” Lady Estella nodded, trying to hide an amused smirk. “Very tempting.”

“Well then,” you shrugged, “we will march south through Highgarden and collect your troops on the way.”

“I have not made my decision yet,” she reminded you.

“I already know what you’ll decide,” you assured her. “You are your son’s regent and you rule the whole city on your own. You must be a smart woman. And a smart woman would bend the knee to King Aegon.”

You turned around and approached Vyrmora to climb on her back. You could see that you had succeeded in the way Lady Estella bowed her head at you.

You nodded at her and ordered your dragon to fly back home.

You took a bath after your return and only then you joined Ormund in his study. For some reason Aelora was already there and so was Daeron. Your brother was standing in the corner with his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes were wide while he watched Aelora’s sobbing. She seemed to plead for something.

“What is going on here?” You asked.

Visibly stressed Ormund sighed with relief at the sight of you.

“Thank gods, you’re back,” he approached you. “Our daughter is having some sort of attack.”

“Attack?” You worried with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, mother!” Aelora ran to you and hid her face between your breasts. You hugged her closer. “Is it true that you are leaving us? All of you?” She sobbed. “First Uncle Gwayne and now you, father and Daeron?”

“We must…” You sighed and rubbed her back. “Who told you?”

“She overheard the soldiers,” Ormund took a sip of his wine and shook his head. Then he glanced at your scared brother. “He did not know either.”

“Daeron?” You asked the boy.

“Y-yes?” He raised his chin and took a few steps towards you.

“Do you know why we must leave?” You inquired. He hesitated.

“I… I think so, yes.”

“Good.”

“Oh, mother, you must allow us to get married as soon as possible!” Aelora looked up at you and you froze.

“Excuse me?”

“You must! I do not agree for Daeron to leave me alone in Oldtown before I become his Lady Wife!” Her lower lip trembled and you snorted at her idea as you caressed her face.

Gods, she was only a child.

“You are ten and two.”

“Nearly ten and three!” She protested. “Besides, some Ladies do get married at this age.”

“Rarely,” Ormund mumbled out, pouring himself another glass of wine. “And it is incredibly irresponsible. You are a child, Aelora.”

“You must be at least ten and six to marry,” you told her. “And I mean at least.”

“Ten and eight,” Ormund scoffed.

“Ten and eight,” you fixed yourself.

“Daeron!” Aelora left your embrace and looked at her betrothed. “Do something!”

The boy looked at you and Ormund with a scared expression as he opened his mouth slightly but no coherent sentence was leaving his lips.

“I… I…” He stuttered.

“That is enough!” You clapped your hands. “Aelora, you expect me to believe you are mature enough to get married, yet you throw a tantrum like a child,” you scolded her. “You will marry Daeron once you are old enough. End of discussion.”

“And if he does not come back…?” She asked with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Long silence occurred.

“Why would he not?” You asked, eventually.

“Because people die at war,” Aelora explained as if she was surprised that she had to be teaching you about that. “Especially young boys with gentle hearts. That is why there are so many evil men in this world. They are the only ones who survive and there is a war around every corner.”

Daeron blushed and looked down. Ormund and you exchanged a surprised look.

“You read too many books, young lady,” your husband chuckled.

“My darling, the day Daeron came to Oldtown, I promised to protect him,” you approached your daughter and kissed her forehead. “That will not change no matter how old he is or where we are. I will never let anything bad happen to him, Alwyn or you.”

“And if something bad happens to you?” Aelora looked deep into your eyes. One of her mismatched orbits just like yours and the other one just like her father’s. If love between you and Ormund could be personified, it would be her.

“Nothing bad will happen to me. I have Vyrmora,” you assured her and she relaxed a little as she hugged you.

Once again you were forced to give a promise you were not sure you could keep.