#polyolbos

➴ 𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 // @polyolbos sent: exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. ( from dalton )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ঔঌ  · ➵ · 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 to see the red kraken appear so forlorn amidst the crowd that eve, throughout the festivities held to celebrate a recent victory in the war, one suggested by none other than his mother's jester, mushroom ( it had been much too long since he'd last gotten his big cock wet, as jace had, unfortunately, overheard him tell the servants late one night ) and that the council had, after some contemplation, agreed was necessary in the wake of all the hardships faced of late, as well as could serve as an effort to strengthen new alliances, dwelling at a distance from lucerys, who, thus far, had not once left his soon to be wife's side since the banquet ( much to the chagrin of other ladies, and men, who could not wait to catch a glimpse of and exchange words with the prince that had fallen with his dragon into the sea and, by some great miracle, lived, now that the rumours of his supposed weakness and confinement to bed had proven wrong, for which old enemies had paid with an appendage, or two, losses inflicted by the more than capable prince himself to match those of their tongues they'd already long been stripped of when they, once before, had foolishly doubted luke's claim to driftmark and even more foolishly believed they were in a position to voice as much freely and openly, now that word had travelled through the realm that luke had successfully claimed another dragon, a wild one with a certain, long known dislike of humans at that, seeming to defy the odds and win over and over again. it did not take much to see that luke was a person of great interest that eve, perhaps even more so than the queen ( and, if you knew luke as well as jace did, it was equally easy to tell how little he cared for the attention, how indifferent he could be towards what he did not care to concern himself with, what he saw no point in; so, whatever answers they sought, they would certainly not be getting from luke, which in itself could be amusing to witness at times ), even less to see dalton greyjoy was seething.

and, perhaps, jace should have stayed with his own betrothed, revelled, if hesitantly given the war was far from won and what awaited them again come morrow, in the scarce pleasures of an eve where the war, at least, momentarily, seemed so far from them, and not paid any mind to the lord of the iron islands and whatever frustrations he faced, and had brought on himself, but his restraint only extended so far, especially when it came to the young lord that had been nothing if not a thorn in his side for many a moon now, ever since he'd arrived on dragonstone to pledge his loyalty and, strangely, refused to speak with the queen until her second son had been summoned to the room as well, ever since luke, who'd never had any qualms about sharing anything, even the most ridiculous, embarrassing truths with him, had started hiding parts of him from jace, refusing to explain even why he felt the need to, reverting them, in a way, to a time where he'd seen but a stranger in him, or, at least, that was how it felt at times, something jace simply could not go through again. no, the opportunity was too good to pass up on, one he couldn't deny he may have been waiting for for moons if he wanted to, and so he excused himself, swooping his cup of wine off the table and weaving his way through the crowd, approaching the kraken and halting beside him, dark brown eyes following his line of sight to where his brother was dancing with his betrothed now, sparing no glance in the way of eyes that had been trailing him all eve, their hands tightly clasped together, lips momentarily disappearing behind the cool, golden rim of the goblet for a gulp of wine and coming away curved upwards at the corners in a subtle, provocative grin born of both, amusement and a certain enjoyment found in the way dalton was behaving that jace didn't bother attempting to withhold, nor conceal, “ i don't suppose the eve is unfolding to your liking, is it . . . my lord? ”

@polyolbos sent: sender is found drunk by receiver . ( from daeron but for older luke this time)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀IT WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME, and it certainly would not be the last, if luke could wager a guess — which he felt rather confident he could, having watched his grandson grow from a flailing babe into the somber, perpetually drunk man he was now, with there being little any of them could have done to prevent him from choosing so reckless of a path for himself, but that didn't lessen the internal jolt of finding him like this after having set out in search of the boy; sprawled on the cold floor of a dark, scarcely frequented corridor even the guards seemed to have abandoned for the night, last drink clutched between fingers barely seeming to hold on, spilled across the grey stone in a strong-smelling puddle seeping deep into the cracks and crevices nowadays tainting once flawless stone. it was terribly reminiscent of a night in his younger years, where the then new king had discovered his own grandsire dead upon the serpentine steps of the red keep, and, for one split second, lucerys’ heartbeat faltered at the sight, thinking history truly had repeated itself in the cruellest way imaginable and he would be having to carry his own grandson, someone he never should outlive under any circumstances so long as there was any justice to be found in the world, any trace of fairness the stranger, despite its loathing of him, could offer, out of this corridor and share the news of his death.

but daeron was breathing, that much became evident the longer the gaze of dark brown eyes lingered upon his slumped form, was alive. even so, it never failed to bring a twinge to his heart to see his eldest grandson through his youngest child looking so . . . forlorn, seemingly daring each cup he sunk into to be the one to, at last, drown him, as though he believed he had no purpose in this world other than to drink and drink and challenge death itself — something lucerys himself was only all too familiar with, albeit in different ways, enough to know that it did not work this way. death did not come when you begged it to; it came when it saw fit.

his own uncle had been much the same, but where aegon had appeared like someone who had felt as though the whole world was a sole means of entertaining him, daeron only made it look . . . sad. pitiful. or, perhaps that perception of daeron's behaviour stemmed solely from his own sentiments towards the boy — his blood, though in a wholly other way than an uncle had been, closer, a human being that would not exist if not for the love shared between him and wife years and years ago, his son's son, and, to others, he looked very much the pathetic drunken failure many had seen in the usurper, while to him, he looked like a boy, a boy making all the wrong choices, for all the wrong reasons. he would not give up on him.

“ daeron. ” the older king spoke into the silence of the vacant corridor, stepping closer, the sound of his footsteps the only noise breaking the stillness lingering around them. reaching his grandchild's side, he lowered himself to a crouch before him, ignoring the raw pain splicing his joints that, of late, had been aching more and more, something he knew was less of a result of age and rather whatever it was that was slowly eating its way through him, the same thing that had him waking with a mouth full of blood on some morrows and suffering sharp, sudden pains that radiated through the entirety of his body for the past few years, extending a hand to brush wild golden hair hanging like a curtain across his features from his face to get a better look at him with a tenderness reserved only for his children and his grandchildren that had come after them, a warmth to the touch and gesture that only they got to witness in whom the realm had taken to calling ‘ the cold dragon ’ ( amongst other soubriquets, most of them acquired in his younger years, in the wake of a war that never should've been, following difficult decisions that not all may have considered ethical or just, but that had been necessary ) too.

“ you foolish boy . . . you never do learn, do you? ” he muttered as softening eyes skimmed his flushed features, but there was nothing truly reprimanding to his voice, ( it was way past the point of that with daeron, he felt, would hardly help or change anything — besides, lecturing was, foremost, the parent's duty, not the grandparent's ), despite the choice of words, rather something sympathetic, worried — a mere statement, for daeron's actions were nothing short of foolish, concerningly so. but, hadn't they all been foolish young men in one way or another once upon a time? though lucerys doubted this was something daeron could so easily grow out of. his palm dropped slowly to his shoulder, before closing around his arm, “ come — up with you. ”