you're just like your father.

you're just like your mother.

you spent years tearing people in this family down and now you're upset they won't come back?

i can't believe i used to defend you.

you always need someone to blame, and when you can't find one, you make one.

you don't get a medal for finally doing what you should've done years ago.

every apology you've ever given this family came with conditions.

i wasn't trying to start a fight. i was trying to have a conversation.

don't stand there acting shocked. you created this.

you know exactly why i don't come around anymore.

why am i always the one apologizing?

every problem in this family gets traced back to you eventually.

you taught me exactly what kind of person i never wanted to become.

you keep calling us ungrateful. for what, exactly?

we keep pretending this family works.

every family gathering turns into this because of you.

the worst part is that i still wanted you to choose me.

you don't miss me. you miss controlling me.

you taught me what love shouldn't look like.

you never wanted a family. you wanted control.

you're exactly the person you swore you'd never become.

everybody notices it. they just won't say it out loud.

you ruin everything you touch and then wonder why nobody calls.

maybe if you called once in a while, you'd know what's going on.

you don't get to disappear for ten years and come back giving advice.

i didn't ask you to be my parent.

maybe they're gone, but we're still dealing with what they left behind.

we had to learn how to adapt because of you!

if everyone keeps leaving you, maybe the problem isn't everyone else.

you want sympathy for wounds you've spent years giving to us.

i can still hear the way you talked to me when i was a kid.

you're the reason nobody wants to be in the same room anymore.

nobody ever defends me when you're around.

i don't know why you're crying now.

you always have an excuse.

you've been blaming everyone else for so long you've forgotten you're the common denominator.

you didn't protect me.

nobody warned me that forgiveness and trust were different things.

you can yell all you want. it won't change what happened.

nobody told me because they knew i'd be angry.

you forgot my birthday.

i shouldn't have had to raise myself.

you have no idea what was said about you after you left.

don't raise your voice at me.

you've been holding this family hostage with your temper for decades.

i wasn't trying to replace anyone.

i would rather tell a stranger my problems than tell you.

that's your problem. you mistake fear for respect.

nobody asked what i wanted.

funny how you only show up when you need something.

you think being loud makes you right.

you act surprised every time there are consequences.

go ahead and leave. that's what you're best at.

you weren't there, so don't tell me how it felt.

everybody walks on eggshells around you.

you make everything about yourself.

you never even tried to know me.

you've hated me since the day i showed up.

it was easier to blame me than deal with the truth.

you're mad at the wrong person.

you had every opportunity to be better than this.

you're acting exactly like them.

why am i hearing this from everyone except you?

you treat strangers better than your own family.

you lost the right to call yourself family a long time ago.

i became the problem the moment i stopped staying quiet.

you inherited more than just their eyes.

for once in your life, stop defending yourself and listen.

i wish someone had believed me the first time.

i don't owe you forgiveness.

you don't miss me. you miss access to me.

i didn't realize love came with so many conditions.

nobody is attacking you. we're finally holding you accountable.

i spent years cleaning up your messes.

we all learned how to survive you in different ways.

you're not upset about what happened, you're upset people know about it now.

funny. that's not what you told everyone else.

you don't get to rewrite my childhood because the truth embarrasses you.

i've spent my entire life paying for your mistakes.

keep talking. every word just proves my point.

stop pretending everything is fine.

i don't care how difficult they were. they were still my parent.

you were the favorite and you still act like you suffered the most.

nobody asked how i was doing after it happened.

i can't tell if you forgot or if you just didn't care.

the worst thing that ever happened to this family is that nobody ever told you no.

i don't hate you. i just don't trust you.

that's not how it happened.

i wasn't invited, remember?

you had chance after chance after chance.

you keep asking why we're distant, but you never ask what caused it.

the second they walk into the room, you change.

you don't get credit for doing the bare minimum.

i spent years trying to earn your approval.

you're impossible to love and exhausting to be around.

i stopped expecting better from you years ago.

you don't get to scream at people and call it honesty.

that's the first honest thing you've said all day.

you don't get to demand respect from people you've never respected.

i wasn't jealous. i was neglected.

nobody here is scared of you anymore.

i don't care what your intentions were. look at the damage.

you always leave before anyone can confront you.

nobody abandoned you. we just got tired of being treated like garbage.

you were in the house, but you were never really there.

you never wanted a family. you wanted an audience.

every story you tell somehow makes you the hero.

i learned a long time ago not to expect anything from you.

you can't keep blaming your childhood forever.

you left me alone with them.

you say we're family whenever it's convenient.

the rest of us learned to survive your moods.

the second someone stops agreeing with you, they're suddenly the enemy.

you always act like you're the only one who had a hard childhood.

i don't even know if you like me.

you don't get to play victim now.

i spent my childhood being afraid of you.

don't compare me to them.

every generation in this family passes the damage down and calls it tradition.

the only reason this family still talks to you is guilt.

i didn't forget your birthday. i just didn't think you'd care.

stop pretending this conversation is beneath you.

the only time you call is when you need something.

i was a child.

i don't know what's worse, your anger or your silence.

we were all scared of you.

the only person who doesn't know how selfish you are is you.

you weren't the only one grieving.

we all know who they're going to side with.

i spent more time defending you than you ever spent defending me.

nobody talks about what happened because they're afraid you'll leave again.

why is everyone afraid of upsetting you?

@smaragduseques sent: " today isn't your day, is it? " (from smaragduseques for otto )

even just the sound of his son's voice elicited disdain, whatever semblance of peace he'd managed to grasp for himself in the silence that had lingered within a welcomely empty room over the past couple of moments lost at once, drawing a low, quiet sigh from the depths of older man's lungs that passed into the air, warmed from the nearby fire, near-soundlessly through his nostrils whilst his gaze only reluctantly, and slowly, pulled away from the window he was facing and shifted to the unwelcome presence at his side; one glimpse of that head of muted red hair and he found himself wishing once more, as he'd done so often already in his lifetime, that the nursemaids hadn't been so swift to grab the boy when he'd tried to clamber out of his crib in the night as a toddler. perhaps then, otto would've had a chance at a life of peace or, at the very least, something close to it. perhaps then this day wouldn't be filled by such disappointment and irritation. perhaps then he could enjoy quiet that lasted longer than mere minutes from time to time, without the inevitable reminder of the chagrin in human form he had been unfortunate to sire.

“ and whose fault is that, gwayne? ” he answered after another moment, during which he futilely, subconsciously wished the man before him would dissipate into thin air, and otto, at last, could wake up from the nightmare of having children, such useless sons in particular, who, naturally, had sired nothing if not useless grandsons with the princess he'd been lucky enough to wed, “ if you or your sons were even remotely of use, this day would not need to feel quite so gloomy. ”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀FALLING INTO STEP BESIDE gwayne, daeron, despite himself, despite the welcome distraction his uncle's arrival had provided and the tension within him palpably easing with his presence, could not help the look he cast back over his shoulder towards the black space of the shadows into which the knight had disappeared, certain he was still there, lingering, watching him from afar, knowing as well as daeron did that this was not yet the end of their tense conversation, merely a temporary delay in all that had not yet been spoken between them being spoken. for but a second, the scowl was back in place as daeron let his head turn back around to face ahead as they made their way across the courtyard, but, with a clenching of his jaw, he willed it to fade away as he muttered his response, not fully trusting that they could not be heard over this distance.

“ he spoke out of line and i reminded him of his place. ” if only it were that simple, but daeron could not tell gwayne the whole truth — not without revealing parts of himself he'd recently come to know that he was not yet willing to share with anybody, that he was not even fully in the clear about, oft kept awake at night by his own circulating thoughts as of late, caught in the thorny grasp of questions like vines slung around him and the crushing pressure of guilt weighing on his chest, though he was not quite sure what he was even feeling guilty for. he hadn't done anything bad, at least it had not seemed that way. and now, he realised, there was a new guilt in keeping this from his uncle, when he'd never so readily kept secrets from him before, never felt as though there was something that he could not tell gwayne.

“ uncle, don't — ” he began, feet suddenly slowing to a halt on the clean white cobblestone beneath them as he turned to gwayne, fingers curling slightly into his sleeve, lip caught between sharp teeth, tugging on flimsy flesh, a nervous habit from his childhood days that had been impossible to shake, but he caught and stopped himself before he could inflict further damage and draw blood, though he was so close — the skin already visibly frayed and reddened in some spots from doing it one too many times over the recent days, “ don't give him trouble over it. don't bring it up, don't treat him any differently . . . promise me that you won't. ”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀THIS, PERHAPS, WAS THE ONLY TIME where daeron did not particularly mind the possibility of embarrassment from his uncle's jests and teasing actions: whenever he returned from long journeys, unscathed and well, at once ceasing all the worries that would plague his nephew each day and night whilst he was gone. all too gladly, he would have stayed in the embrace a little longer, let his hair be tousled and quipped about whether his uncle had come back bearing gifts for him or not, feigning offence at the mere idea that he had not, but, perhaps, now was not the time, for he had not forgotten about the young woman he had been conversing with either.

“ this is mila. ” he said with a smile as he drew back, the woman's face adopting an impossibly darker shade of crimson as the prince's gaze met her own once again, clearly not having expected the introduction, before she regarded gwayne with a polite, but nervous, simper, “ ser, i am happy to hear that your travels went well. i will not hold you up any further. my prince. ” another flustered exchange of looks with daeron and she was gone, hurrying off in direction of the gardens to return to her tasks, violet hues trailing her disappearing silhouette for a brief moment, before they settled upon gwayne's features once more.

now was the time. lips stretching further into a grin, he quirked a silver set of eyebrows at his uncle, “ so? ”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀HE COULD HAVE LEFT IT THERE, kept his uncle in the dark, left him to wonder what he'd meant, or not, and not wasted another breath or thought on it, or on gwayne altogether, but gwayne's continued ignorance, which he was nigh certain was merely pretend and his uncle knew exactly what he was talking about, and denial only further fuelled the rage that had been brewing inside of him, hidden deep beneath the surface, nigh forgotten for a long amount of time, for far longer than it should've. but even amidst that rapidly increasing ire, aemond could not bring himself to say it more plainly, not when the matter was so insignificant and pathetic , when he shouldn't even be concerning himself with something so minuscule, even less now that he was older. he'd never wanted to go to oldtown to begin with — in fact, he had taken offence to it then, to his mother's audacity to even suggest sending him away, getting rid of him as she'd done with the youngest son. his place was in king's landing, he had known that already then, and naught had changed about that. truly, it had all worked out in aemond's favour in the end, and yet . . .

“ playing the fool to avoid matters you are not ready to deal with may have worked to silence my mother seven years ago, but it will not convince me. ” he was not even certain what alicent had made of it — she had never brought it up again, and that had been the end of it. his words should've been enough of a hint, but in the case that they weren't, he continued, “ i suppose it would be a reasonable assumption to make that the raven got lost, but that would not explain why it it still sits cawing its head off in the rookery now. ”

@smaragduseques continued from here.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀A SWIFT ROLL OF VIOLET EYES, not the first in the past half an hour since he had been escorted off the training grounds to the maesters, clutching his bloodied side, was his answer to his uncle's concerns, albeit it came accompanied by a small grin tearing through pained grimaces as the maester's thick needle poked through skin again and again for the last of the stitches as his head lifted from where he'd been observing the maester's skilful fingers at work to face gwayne. “ i told you, it's nothing. when has someone ever died from nothing? your exaggerations would only serve to embarrass you, uncle. ” despite the jests spilling from lips, the mention of his mother caused his grin to falter somewhat, an expression he attempted to conceal by quickly shifting his gaze back to where the maester was handling his wound. though it didn't come without some guilt that promptly followed the notion, he wondered, if for but a brief moment, whether she would even care, or whether it may be more relief than shock to hear of her youngest son's untimely passing on the training grounds of oldtown. he did not want to think of his mother in such a way, did not wish to paint her in his mind as the cruel, uncaring monster he knew she was not, not to him, but he also could not deny the way the lack of recent letters stung. to be fair, he had started it, writing less to king's landing in recent years, oft too occupied with training and lessons and other endeavours, even more now that he was older, had grown into a man and no longer was the boy that once had arrived here, holding onto his uncle and equal parts thrilled and nervous about this new life in a place so far from the home he had known beforehand, now that interests had shifted and the young ladies and men of oldtown caught his eye more frequently, and now that tessarion had grown large enough to be ridden and being on dragonback had quickly become one of daeron's favourite pastimes, though they would not yet cross large distances, would not ride to king's landing to pay a visit to a family who not once in all the years he had been in oldtown had come to see him, not one of them. but, perhaps, a small part of him had wanted to see whether his silence would prompt her to pen more often, to ask what he was doing, how he was faring.

he shoved the thoughts away with a small wince when the maester applied a clear, burning liquid to the fresh stitches and prepared the bandages, sucking a sharp breath into his lungs, before lilac eyes found his uncle again with the next quip on his tongue, sadness returned to the darkest depths of his mind, where it oft lay, not forgotten, but crammed somewhere it could not reach him so easily, “ am i allowed back on the training grounds or am i on bedrest for the weeks to come because my uncle still believes i'm at risk of dying? ”

he would pretend that he hadn't noticed the roll of his eyes, just as he had already ignored the gesture repeatedly, perhaps the same way he had ignored it since the boy had first arrived in oldtown for he never cared to spend his time scolding him. "i have never known nothing to require stitches." a shake of his head with the words, and perhaps daeron was right that his fuss was unwarranted, with any of the other boys who's training he oversaw, he would not have worried so greatly, not for lack of caring for them but only because his care for his nephew exceeded any other. despite his words, it was not for any thought towards what his sister might think, he was not unaware of the shortage of letters that came from her, and gwayne had long since stopped voluntarily sending updates unless requested. the time spent penning letters could better be spent on daeron himself.

༄࿔*·⋅ starter for @smaragduseques.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀IN ALL ITS GLORY, whispering sound stretched before them, usually a lake of glittering turquoise sprinkled with the shapes of boats and ships of all sizes, their sails and banners a sea of colour, in the warmer seasons, now a muted greyish-blue in the rain that, once again, had started to fall from heavy, grey clouds after they'd made their way up here from the warmth of their quarters, thick fog spreading across the bay and the town attached to it, seeming to swallow everything in vicinity whole, palpable in a damp chill grazing skin from the nigh topmost part of the hightower, only the flame stretching higher still, emitting a warm glow somewhere above their heads that tore through the hazy veil. he'd been here a handful of times before, when he'd been younger, and nigh too long ago did it seem now with the last visit laying years in the past. it had felt different then, a new appreciation for what he stood to inherit having come with age, with leaving youth behind and entering adulthood, something deeper, a wonder linked with pride and readiness now opposed to the curiosity and astonishment at its vastness, which, at times, had felt a little intimidating, it had been then, but one thing had remained the same: the hightower had always been his favourite part of oldtown, only the unrivalled sensation of being on dragonback surpassing the thrill that came with being so high up, so close to the sky that, at times, the clouds floated close enough to the tall stone structure that they could be touched.

it was then that an approaching figure nearing the walls of oldtown caught his attention. a vagabond, surely, perhaps a hedge knight without horse or a beggar seeking shelter in oldtown, though there was a strange sense of familiarity to the shape of a man that only became recognisable upon second glance, dark eyes squinting somewhat against the thin spray of rain dampening his face and the distance separating them, palms bracing against the stone railing as he leaned forward. it was something about his attire, the way he moved . . . no, it couldn't possibly be . . .

“ is that . . . grandsire? ” indeed, it was otto hightower making his way through the gates and towards the courtyard, a slight stagger to his step, clothes sticking to him with damp and what, even from here, was discernible as a large amount of mud. he supposed that explained why he had not been in oldtown as they had assumed he would be after he had so brashly left dragonstone following a short, unwelcome visit nigh two moons prior after deciding, at once, that they all were ignorant and useless and he would no longer concern himself with any of them. “ fucking hells, it is. and i had hoped we had seen the last of him. ” was muttered as hands pushed away from the thick stone and he followed his father through a narrow arch back into the building, finding their way through luminous corridors and down steep, spiralling stairs, until they emerged into the courtyard just as otto set foot into it from the other side.

there was something undeniably humorous to the way he looked, once fine clothing clinging to his body like a drenched linen sack, fabric torn in some spots and smeared by soggy heaps of dirt and other unrecognisable substances, leaves and twigs sticking to his sleeves and his soaked hair, the pull threatening to tug luke's lips upwards just barely suppressed. “ he looks like he was carried here by the honeywine. ” he whispered to his father beside him, watching as his grandsire crossed the distance towards the hightower, at last taking notice of them, previously blank features quickly contorting into discontent as he lifted his arms, something slimy dripping off one drenched sleeve of a cloak that had certainly seen better days then and pooling on the wet cobblestone beneath him, gesturing their way. “ now look who we have here . . . my son and my grandson, waiting for me after leaving me to navigate the wilderness! ”

he had not once begrudged the infrequent visits to oldtown, having known that with enough time he would be able to take more time within the familiar streets of his own childhood to show lucerys his inheritance. there was a distinct pleasure, a newfound form of pride, in being witness to the change that years had brought about in the boy. he had little doubt that he would, when the time came, cope well with the responsibility that would fall upon his shoulders. he drew closer upon noting the change in his stance, coming to lean his hands upon the wall beside him, attention similarly snagged by the figure that passed through the gates of oldtown. it seemed the peace of their visit might not be as long-lived as he might have hoped, for luke was right, despite appearances that suggested the man entering the courtyard below should be anyone but otto hightower, who would surely never appear so bedraggled and filth ridden.

"if only it was so easy to be rid of him." yet, despite all of otto's gripes and apparent distaste for them, gwayne had not yet found a way to be freed entirely from the presence of his father. though, if they were to suffer his existence once more, it brought some satisfaction that the man had to be in such a state for it, all brought upon him through his own actions he might add. the expression worn upon the knight's face was a near mirror of his son's, amusement threatening to break through, and his attempts to keep a smile off his lips near failed upon hearing luke's murmured words. "i think a dip in the honeywine might have improved his appearances."