#bronzebtch

it was... not what he imagined. fanciful imagination, sharpened under the stars when hope stretched thin, set a clear view for their reunion: he’d catch her by surprise, sneaking up on her on the woods they used to roam, he would cover her eyes with his hand and ask if she still watched the harbour during the summer for his ship, and when she gasped in recognition, he’d grab her waist and spin her around until they were both sick and aching with laughter.

❛⠀⠀everything i told you was the truth, especially the lies. ⠀ ⠀ ❜ ⠀ ⠀

@bronzebtch​ gets a starter!  harwin + rhea

Hunting with Rhea was, simply put, impossible. Not because of the company, but because of the fact that he couldn’t get a shot in to save his life. He was glad to have the pleasure to go on a hunt with her, though, and it shows in the grin on his face that remains throughout the hunt. 

“At least let me tell people I shot one deer,” he says jokingly to her as they ride back towards the castle. “I can’t believe all I got were these damn pheasants.” 

Dangerous, this one. He can only ‘mishear’ so many times, it would seem.

‘ An ask too steep, I’m afraid—- ’

Harwin rings loud in the morning mist. A grating chestful sees the boar flung feet-over-horseback, and he gets to strapping it securely. Its neck loosens the last of the undrained blood in long pearls.

‘ -—of a man who abstains. ’

' exiled again . would this forever be his fate ? so be exiled time and time again , to then be welcomed back with open arms as if words of disscontempt were never -- spoken between his brother and him ? such a dishonourable existence . and all to please that fucking hand of his , he would much find it better to carve out ' his heart and serve it to his brother upon one of his fanciest silver plates ― how - boring that such actions were all but forbidden .

"How is my grandson treating you, dear?"

It was the queen's first visit to the Vale since Daemon and Rhea's wedding and specifically made to visit the young couple. Of course she would have to pay a visit to the newly installed Lady of the Vale, Jeyne Arryn, but Runestone was her first top. Upon arriving, Alysanne had found that Daemon was out flying, but that only gave her some time alone with Rhea.

No doubt.

Isn’t she embarrassed, in the face of that old Royce idiot’s name. Into her ear and from behind, eye cast about, he croons:

❛Is there anything your father taught you well?❜

The Valemen are slow, uncultured pigs in the art of the hunt, tracking filth wherever they stomp. They had him take one for a wife, but admittedly, she’s more sense in her than any of her drunken simpletons.

He’s not seen one banner.

Crooked as her arm is, she jerks. Is she trying to, what, strike him? Good. He was getting bored.

Daemon tut-tut-tuts. The last clasp on her breastplate hangs untouched and the rest loose around her middle. Where Daemon has her by the gauntlet, he tips her elbow up just so. De-armouring her will wait until she gathers her wits, few as they appear to be.

❛Now, I can can set it right,❜ her shoulder, that is, which he now introduces to a nightmarish angle, ❛or I can make it worse.❜

An ambush is only an ambush if you allow it to be, and Royce is no fighter. She can cut and not much else. He killed four of those cunts and the fifth one, well—he would have bled out hours prior under Daemon’s express care.

If inclined to take revenge and point his fellow cunts in their direction, he should have. Though Daemon has seen many a time what a challenge it is to speak with the tongue carved out at the root, through a hole of blood.

The rains have made the close-treed eve wet. His chin is sore up to his mouth from a hilt’s smack. A tongue for a scratch, as the poets spin.

More will come in the night. Daemon encourages them to; Dark Sister is very, very thirsty.

Rhaenys made a mix between a scoff and a snorting sound. Little did Rhea know that she had contemplated doing just that when the vote came in. It was only a immense deal of self-restraint and Corlys' hand on the small of her back anchoring her that had kept her from setting Harrenhal on fire with everyone in it. I

t would have been what they all deserved for robbing her of what was hers. Her grandsire, the King, most of all. But in the end, she had just mounted Meleys and took off for Driftmark, where she had stayed until now, when King Jaehaerys' death was imminent. She and Corlys were there only to show due respect for both grandsire and cousin, old king and new king, and would leave as soon as the coronation was over with.

For now, she sits there with Rhea, wondering when Daemon was going to bother to show his face. At the younger woman's words, Rhaenys gave a tight little smile. "Thank you, Lady Rhea," she said quietly as she took a sip of wine. "If only yours did."