#faatedones

the smell of fire and ash does not leave, no matter how much he wishes it would. it sticks in his nose, heavy and nauseating, matching the panic that makes his heart thunder in his chest. it's not as paralyzing as it was earlier, but the aftermath is still jarring, perhaps even more so. hearing all the wounded, the dead, the missing — the disaster the dragons left in their wake, who knows countless more injured. the buildings that looked unbreakable were rubble underneath their wings, and the sheer strength and anarchy of it all had shaken him in a way he did not expect at all. the liege continues to pace in their room, back and forth, back and forth, still clad in the same outfit as earlier, wrinkled and without the embellishments, trying to wrap his head around everything and failing to do so. a hand wrapped around a wine bottle, he takes a swig every now and then, and although the warmth burning down his throat is familiar — it does not help. when the door to the tyrell chambers open to reveal harlon, he rushes to his side. even if he knows the older wasn't hurt, his movements are still erratic, hands moving to the other's shoulders. "harlon! harlon — what the fuck —" there is a part of him pleased that his brother's been offered the master of laws role- yet the panic about the attack wins over. he'll inquire that part later. "what happened? do you know?"