#beforethesummer

Lyarra was far from being overjoyed when told they had to go back to Winterfell again. They had gone for a visit only some six moons beforehand, and to go back again seemed a little excessive. It had been fine while there, but not home. Things had been a little more formal, a little more stiff. But her parents insisted, and Branda seemed excited to go, so accompany them she must. It was on the journey there that her sister revealed her thoughts on the matter: that their cousin needed a wife. Lyarra had pointed out that there were plenty other girls from other families in the North to choose from, but Branda would not sway from her suspicions. Lyarra was not quite sure how she felt about such a possibility. 

When they arrived, she looked at her cousin in a way she hadn’t thought about looking before. Handsome enough, she supposed. Big, broad, strong, but... quiet. Quieter than she would have liked. But she was the younger of the two, probably brought along for the sake of it, when Branda was the one Lord Edwyle wanted for his son. Although Branda was often a bore too, Lyarra thought.

The day after their arrival, Lyarra had grown bored already, and was entertaining herself in the stables. She was fond of the horses, and found company in them when talk with people did not live up to her expectations. Especially her own mare. A dappled grey yearling she had taken to calling Dalla. She spoke quietly to her, comforting her as she stayed in this strange place, when she heard someone else enter. She never knew how to greet Rickard. Branda always curtsied, but he was not that much older than them, and their cousin. Surely formalities could be overlooked.

I bought Minecraft yesterday (for exactly 1 modpack and I am Living) and I have been playing it every free moment now for two days....since I work Fri-Sun I’m hoping to get some replies done tomorrow, as well as starters I owe over at beforethesummer, annnd y’know, maybe do some inbox stuff since I keep collecting it.

                “ Don’t look at me like that, Vhagar. ” Dragonrider chided, lips pursing slightly, a spark of mischief brewing in violet gaze. “ I would not truly want you to roast my brother. Only slightly simmer - you and I both know he deserves that. He just had to be so incredibly difficult. Wields sword and cock with much bravado, but knows so little about the weapon that is the spoken word that I would rather he keeps his mouth shut, sometimes. Either way, it would not do him too much harm - after all, we Targaryens can handle the fire. What do you say, hm? ” 

           “ Och, Visenya, will you not wipe that frown of your face, already? You look so huffy. ” Though the youngest out of the three, one could claim she was also the boldest. After all, it was her who reached out to the moody dragon and then, physically, pushed the corners of the woman’s mouth back up, the result a sight comical enough that it made Rhaenys grin from ear to ear. 

          “ There, I much prefer this look. The frowning should be reserved to Aegon. ”

He had been cruel selling his sister to wed the dothraki horse-lord, careless as he uprooted the simple life the surviving Targaryens had made across the Narrow Sea with their mother, insensitive as he dragged an aging Rhaella alongside her children and a savage khalasar in a tactless plan to return to the Seven Kingdoms. And Viserys had gone too far threatening to rip the unborn son from his sister’s belly. He would not lay a finger on the the stallion who would mount the world, a new Targaryen of dothraki blood whose claim to the throne would far outrank his uncle’s. As the man screamed in agony, his melted face losing life with each ragged breath, Daenerys moved her gaze from the horrific sight to her mother. She had bore witness to it all: Viserys’ vicious threats and the indisputable nod from the Khaleesi that had sentenced him to death. Innocent Daenerys was no more.

As his remains were removed from the room, the Khaleesi dismissed all company. She stood only before Rhaella Targaryen with pain and a new fear in her eyes. Dany couldn’t seem to find words. “I am sorry,” she whispered. 

            No, silver prince could no longer stand idly by as his father sneered and gave horrid command after horrid command, tearing the realm apart with his long, cracked nails. So, the last dragon stood tall, back straight as his father descended iron throne, a ruthless voice in his head hoping that the older man might cut himself upon its sharpness once more. 

            There was Tywin - the lion who was more a father to him that Aerys had been in years, concern peeking through his eyes. His mother, much less composed, though still quiet. The rest of the room - so quiet one might hear a pinprick fall. And his father’s steps, heavy and dragging, before he paused, step above him. Still, their eyes met easily, and the prince did not lower his chin in submission. No longer, he thought.

            When had his love for his father dwindled to ashes? When had he stopped wanting to fly? What had sired this rage sitting within his chest as he looked upon the elder? 

            Jaw clenched, he listened to the words, and found them weak. He was not a dragon, silver prince thought. He was what was left behind in the wake of one. A shell, burned out. Hollow. “ Do you defy your country, father? ” He shot back - iron to steal to adamant in his tone, tongue a whip. “ If war comes, we shall be, but not for what you’ve done to help it rise. ” There was a gasped murmur echoing through the room ; one that died down as quickly as it rose.

            He took a step forward ; the movement actively forcing his father back, lest they collide. Now they were on equal footing, and Silver prince towered over him, slim and slender, and shining warlord in his splendid black and red armor. Beside him, his father was the ghost of one.

            “ Mercy, my king? ” It was distant, how he addressed his father ; there was a tinge of sadness, hidden in indigo gaze. This is not how it’s supposed to be, I don’t want this. “ Will you burn your own son alive for telling you that you will have no subjects left if you put them all to the flames? If I must be your sword, your grace, ” a slight shake of his head. “ I shall be your reason, too. You must put an end to this - show them the crown knows mercy, indeed. Or we shall all burn. You, I, the queen. Viserys. My wife, my children. Is that what you wish for? ” His voice had dwindled to a whisper, so quiet only he could hear it. “ Father, please. ”