𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

PERHAPS HIS LAST conscious thought was something as human as that. the last thing he felt as a WHOLE MAN, was this immense, all-consuming want to LIVE.

he'd heard many a tale of gruesome deaths. of lives cut short in their prime. even those of he once knew .. yet still, it is indeed like how they say— such stories never do feel real until they become your story.

he used to think about it quite often. in his own sardonic way, that is .. on days when wine && misery ran thicker than blood in his veins, he would fantasize about it. it used to feel .. EXHILARATING ! back when he was laughing heartily with his legs dangling off each side of the saddle, arms stretched open, wind hitting his face harder than rejection ever could as he flew up above the sun. when he lay under a nameless, faceless lover, her hand threatening to crush his windpipe, a thousand little stars exploding behind his eyelids. EXHILARATING ! when he'd get to dance with the stranger, but to his own tune. when he'd get to let it remain a story, and eventually leave him standing alone on the stage for his time hadn't come yet.

please tell me it hadn't come yet.

that rapture was a distant thunder now. an ancient lie. exhilaration replaced by NAUSEATING HORROR. the hands closing around him no longer that of a lover but the stranger— beckoning him back for the curtain call.

hours— or is it minutes, spent in the realm of the living were scarce. not scarce enough. an odd thing to wish for, considering how BADLY he had wanted to stay here as he fell from the sky like a lightning bolt. gold intertwined with red, dragging each other down to the seven hells while still spitting fire at one another until they collided with the earth, from which neither could rise for a long time.

longer for the red.

the only moment he'd found some relief during those scarce minutes, was when he was told the king's glory had survived the fall. was he in as much agony as he was, aegon wondered.

had he doomed them both by begging the gods to let him live ?

it certainly felt so when the good maester had finally obeyed && shown him his face.

what stared back at him with one good eye was .. not him. it could not be. it had prompted a seizure so violent he had to be put to sleep again, from which he wished he could wake up whole.

alas, he was out of wishes to be granted.

eventually his eyes opened again. eyes— he noticed with mild surprise, his left eye having healed just enough to see again. how long had he even slept ? not long enough. sunlight had never felt more unforgiving, it burned so bright he almost closed his eyes again, but then he heard the voice.

without turning to the direction of it, he willed his good hand to rise && cover the HORRIFYING side of his face with what little hair was left on that part of his scalp, even the weight of those frail strands making him grimace in pain when they touched the scars.

".. don't," he heard himself say then, voice meek && unrecognizable like the rest of him, trying to prevent her from getting any closer. funny, he could vaguely remember not wanting to her to be anywhere but as close as humanly possible to him .. but that was another lifetime. that was when he could recognize the reflection on the mirror.

he knew how he looked now.

HALF-ALICENT, HALF-AGONY— and he used to think those were one and the same thing .. even his eye-color was mismatched; one rosy and one CRIMSON, like the flames that consumed him on that accursed day. like the dragon that took everything from him except for his wretched life.

he didn't look up at her. he couldn't. he wasn't prepared for whatever heartwrenching expression she must have put on. "i .. please don't look at me !"

oh but that CRY was distinctly him, as was the way his lips were trembling with everything else left unsaid.