He felt it. The whisper of it — I promise — and the particular quality of her silence underneath, the way it sat just slightly too careful, too contained, like something she was holding at arm's length from herself even as she said it.

He knew her. He had always known her, in the way that required no particular effort or attention, simply accumulated over years of proximity and the peculiar intimacy of having grown up alongside someone before either of you knew what intimacy was. He knew the difference between Aemma certain and Aemma trying to be. He knew which one had just spoken. But he did not press it. Instead, he filed it the way he filed most things he intended to return to — quietly, without announcement, in the part of himself that kept the things that actually mattered.

She will manage it, he thought, when her forehead rested against his and her breath steadied itself with that particular discipline she had always possessed and never quite credited herself for. She always manages it. She simply requires the world to stop announcing itself quite so loudly first. The question pulled him back — what must be done now — and he lifted his head, the brief softness of the moment folding itself away as cleanly as a letter sealed and sent.

He looked toward the chamber door. Beyond it, the keep was already stirring, that particular quality of movement that accompanied death in a place of power — not grief, not yet, but the machinery of succession beginning to turn beneath the surface of mourning like a current beneath ice. He had heard it the moment he woke. Had been waiting, if he was honest, longer than just tonight.

❛ The maester will have sent word to the council already, ❜ he said, voice settling back into its familiar register — measured, deliberate, the voice he used when there was work rather than feeling to be done. ❛ They will be assembling. ❜ He turned from the door and looked at her properly. The candlelight caught the honey of her hair, the pale violet of her eyes — eyes that had always struck him as more honest than most, perhaps because they had never learnt to hide what moved behind them the way proper court eyes learned to do. The way he had learned to do long ago.

She looked, he thought, exactly as she always had. Simply herself. Which was precisely what the court would spend considerable energy trying to undo, and precisely what he had no intention of allowing. ❛ The burial preparations will fall to the Lord Steward, for now. The council will want me in that chamber within the hour. ❜ A pause, his jaw tightening fractionally. ❛ Otto will already be arranging the furniture to his liking if I give him longer than that. ❜

He took her hand. Not gently, exactly — that had never quite been his way — but with the same certainty with which he did most things, the grip of a man who had decided and was not revisiting the decision. ❛ You need not be present for this first meeting. No one will expect it tonight. ❜ His eyes held hers, steady. ❛ But Aemma, ❜ and his voice dropped, just slightly, shedding the logistics, ❛ what you whispered just now. ❜

A beat.

❛ I am holding you to it. ❜ Not a threat. Not quite an entreaty either. Simply the truth of it, plainly stated, the way he stated most truths he meant entirely. ❛ Whatever the court decides you lack — and they will decide, because that is what the court does — I would have you remember what you said to me first. Not to them. ❜

He studied her face for a moment longer than he needed to, memorising something he couldn't name precisely.

Then he straightened. The King he was becoming settled over the husband he'd just been. Not replacing it. Simply layering on top, the way armour layered over skin.

Aemma had not grown up consistently at court like her cousins had, because her Targaryen mother was never the one who raised her. It hadn't been until the age of ten that she was brought to the capital by her father and never returned to the Vale again. She had grown and learned and adapted in most ways, became quiet, pleasant and liked by the courtiers. No one had ever said an ill word to her, but Aemma knew she would be lacking as Queen. She was too young, too sensitive, too soft, too much of an Arryn, not enough of a Targaryen - they would always find flaws within her. But the one person who mattered had never found a single one and that ought to be enough.

She nodded when Daemon spoke, because he knew more of the proceedings than her, had already witnessed them before when the late Queen died, while Aemma had been occupied mourning their grandmother. She had been of little help then and feared she would be of little help now. A small grin flashed across her expression when he slandered Otto, because neither one of them liked the man. He had tried to further his standing at court by letting his little daughter read to the King all the time, as if she was a puppet to be paraded and used at his whim. No doubt he would try to grapple for as much power as possible now as well.

Her expression turned somber again when he continued and another nod was all she could offer. She hadn't been aware that her presence would be expected at any council meetings, let alone soon, but at least she would not have to do it tonight. It was long past the witching hour and Aemma trapped in a strange stage between hyper alertness and tired to the bone. She would have donned a gown and sat at a meeting for Daemon's sake, but was glad she could eventually return to bed and sleep for the rest of whatever was left of the night. Grief would most certainly not keep her awake.

Her hand grasped his when Daemon asked her to keep her word and she gently squeezed his fingers. "I will. I promise", she whispered back, smiling fondly at him, before sucking in a breath. As a matter of fact, Aemma wasn't sure she could stomach seeing a corpse at this hour. She has only ever seen their dead grandmother and it had haunted her for many nights, so her desire to say goodbye to the King was little to non. But she could not afford to be a coward any longer, now that all eyes of their court would be on both of them. So she pushed the doors open to the King's bedchambers and stepped inside, hoping her sensitive sense of smell stemming from pregnancy would not be overwhelmed by the sickly odor of death and cause her stomach to turn. The Arch Maester was still tending to the old man, so was a Septon and Aemma stepped to the foot of the bed, regarding him.

daemon's   hands   grasped   at   the   air   uselessly.   rhaenyra   had   moved   away   and   he   slowly   lifted   his   eyes   to   take   her   in.   he   thought   it   was   fair   of   her   to   be   angry.   now   that   he   didn't   have   to   deflect   and   lie,   his   anger   was   subdued   and   gave   way   for   sadness   and   regret.   he   opened   his   mouth   to   protest   her   order.   it   would   not   be   daemon   who   would   go   chasing   after   his   daugter-   but   before   he   would   speak   it,   rhaenyra   came   to   him   with   an   accusation.   he   lunged   again,   trying   to   catch   her   wrist   but   she   evaded   it.   ❝   she   is   my   daughter,   rhaenyra   !   it   does   not   matter   what   i   think.   she   pleaded   with   me.   don't   tell   me   you   wouldn't   do   the   same.   ❞   he   tried   to   meet   her   gaze.   he   doubts   she   wouldn't   betray   him   if   it   came   to   any   of   her   sons.   he   would   not   blame   her.   ❝   i   felt   such   great   misery,   such   pain,   disappointment,   and   love,   withstanding   all...   i   did   what   i   thought   best.   i   had   to   protect   her.   ❞

he   paused,   his   own   voice   had   said   those   things.   it   felt   good,   even   if   he   didn't   admit   his   fear.   ❝   she   wants   to   be   dead,   so   i   tried   to   give   her   that   mercy   !   why   do   you   care   who   i   had   to   kill   for   the   head   ?   it   would   not   be   the   last   casualty   in   your   name.   it   was   some   old   goat-keeper.   ❞   daemon   took   a   deep   breath,   steadying   himself.   he   stood   again   and   stepped   closer   to   his   wife.   ❝   war   is   still   waging.   i   will   not   hunt   down   rhaena.   i   would   rather   go   to   the   vale   and   return   with   our   sons.   that   way   we   can   both   be   certain   they   will   arrive   home   safely.   ❞   his   last   memories   of   aegon   and   viserys   resurfaced   and   daemon   felt   his   knees   grow   weak.   what...   what   if   something   had   befallen   his   sons,   too?   he   could   not   bear   the   thought.   panic   he   didn't   know   was   within   made   itself   known.

daemon had mistaken the meaning of her word and was rightfully so defensive of. it had been more of a rhetorical desire to have rhaena brought before her, not an order given to her husband and right hand. she would not demand that of him, knowing fully well how conflicted he felt. luke had been in the wrong at driftmark when he took aemond's eye and yet rhaenyra had defended him to the point of taking the blade to her arm. as a mother, she understood why daemon had lied to her. as his wife, it hurt her, because he should have trusted her more to not hurt rhaena, even if he had brought her to king's landing.

she halted in her pacing when daemon rose as well and approached her, shaking her head. "i did not make my words clear: i do not expect you to bring her to me. but nonetheless i have the desire to face her and reason with rhaena. foolish girl. that wild dragon will be the death of her. i know she always wanted a dragon, but what will become of her now? we cannot let her live as an outcast in the vale in times of war. that dragon will not protect her and might very well still turn on her. but i also cannot allow her to take it to the city. wild dragons cannot be trusted amidst humans. they are not like our mounts."

he   watched   the   way   her   face   changed,   and   tears   spilled.   rhaena   had   always   been   his   gentle   little   girl.   baela   was   brazen   and   wanted   action,   while   rhaena   read   books   and   stitched.   a   proper   lady   who   would've   made   the   perfect   wife   to   lucerys,   had   the   boy   been   alive,   if   they   could   have   grown   up   together.   now   the   picture   daemon   had   in   his   mind   was   completely   shattered.   she   had   tainted   her   future   with   this   wild   beast   and   what   followed   after.   ❝   it   is   rhaena.   saw   it   with   my   own   eyes.   she'd   cut   her   hair   and   was   covered   in   ash.   her   clothes   torn   into   rags.   ❞   his   voice   wasn't   as   stable   as   he   would've   liked   it   to   be.   ❝   she   did   not   want   to   return.   i   pleaded   with   her   to   come   back   with   me   —   to   face   you   and   speak   to   you.   instead,   she   asked   me   to   deceive   you.   ❞   he   didn't   need   to   explain   to   rhaenyra   the   depths   of   his   fatherly   love. 

he   had   felt   pity   for   his   daughter.   she   had   no   dragon,   the   egg   in   her   cradle   hadn't   hatched.   as   she   grew,   she   watched   baela   and   moondancer   grow   up   together.   she   had   no   taste   for   war,   which   was   what   interested   him,   she   wasn't   too   keen   on   the   histories.   he   seldom   knew   how   to   connect   with   her.   at   least   rhaenyra   did   it   better.   he   had   loved   seeing   her   with   his   children,   but   how   the   tables   had   turned.   betrayed   by   both   of   his   firstborn   daughters...   causing   the   death   of   rhaenyra's   first   son.   ❝   she   said   she   didn't   mean   to   hurt   jace,   wanted   to   help   them   in   the   battle...   her   dragon   is   wild   and   doesn't   listen.   ❞   that   was   how   it   must   have   happened.   he   recalled   what   baela   had   said   about   the   battle,   that   sheepstealer   had   descended   on   them   both   and   burnt   ships   of   both   sides.

rhaenyra could not consolidate her image of rhaena with what daemon was now telling her. she had always been such a pleasant, quiet girl - eager to please, gentle and kind with the boys and very accepting of her younger brothers. to think she had abandoned them in pursuit of a wild dragon and caused jace's death? that was hard to believe and even harder to accept, because it meant that the person who had taken her son was out there and she would not be able to get her revenge. it brought helaena's words back to her mind and how her sweet sister had asked if killing otto had lessened the grief weighing on her. it had not and she needed to remind herself that punishing rhaena would not bring back her son either.

nonetheless she was angry. wrath burned in her chest as she freed herself from daemon's grasp and got out of bed to pace the chamber. "she cannot believe that it is so easy to get away with her foolishness. i want her brought before me, so she can look me in the eyes and tell me what she thought would happen! i may not have been a mother to her in the years we have shared a home, but i have tried my best to tend to her need as laena would have and now she plays the coward and runs away. and you -", she whirled around to face her husband. " - must think me a monster if you had to kill some poor innocent bystander to cover for your daughter's crime, because you thought i would lay hands on her otherwise. do you know me so little, daemon?"

he   tried   to   not   snarl   as   she   went   on.   when   would   it   be   enough,   what   he   does?   he   sensed   she   was   unhappy.   glad   that   someone   had   done   as   she   asked   so   far   but   not   happy   with   his   advice.   his   revenge   hadn't   been   enough.   he   supposed   it's   fair,   given   it's   a   fictitious   one,   for   the   true   revenge,   daemon   couldn't   bring   forth.   he   wished   she   hadn't   accused   him   of   the   truth.   he   wished   to   be   able   to   lie   to   her.

daemon   looked   over   his   shoulder,   considering   the   door.   bolting   had   always   been   the   easy   way   out,   and   it   would   show   rhaenyra   he   wouldn't   talk   more   of   the   matter.   he   saw   himself   out   in   a   matter   of   seconds,   but   she   had   struck   him   too   deep.   opened   an   old   wound   and   rubbed   salt   right   into   it.   his   revenge   for   lucerys   wasn't   enough,   his   justice   for   jace   was   fornicated.   it   could   only   be   her   who   erred   in   her   grief.   he   had   to   be   perfect,   to   be   her   sword.   daemon   didn't   know   how,   but   he   yelled,   ❝   who   put   you   to   this,   rhaenyra   ?   was   it   mysaria,   eh   ?   ❞   he   put   the   distance   between   them   that   she   so   desperately   sought.

❝   you   seem   to   listen   more   than   you've   ever   listened   to   me.   ❞   he   could   not   control   the   anger   that   rose   within,   that   made   his   voice   rise.   ❝   why   not   put   her   to   the   job   ?   she   will   do   it   better   than   me.   exactly   as   you   ordered   it.   she   won't   lie   to   you,   either   !   ❞   venom   laced   his   words.   not   a   fiber   of   daemon   would   ever   believe   her   the   way   rhaenyra   seemed   to.   he   paced   around   the   room,   trying   to   calm   himself.   there   were   so   many   objects   to   smash,   and   not   too   long   ago   he   would   have   lunged   for   them.   would've   burst   a   knuckle   punching   a   table   or   a   wall...   age   must   be   what   made   him   slow   down. 

she had been prepared for an outburst, of course. it is not the first time in their marriage of late and will not be the last. and the queen knew she had attacked his pride, but she was not aware that his insecurities are so deeply rooted that he finds a rival in mysaria, just because she has given rhaenyra fair and valuable council in the last few months. It is nothing she will apologize for, nor will she send mysaria elsewhere to appease his pride, but it baffles her that he is so easily riled up by her presence at court. perhaps she has not shown him her loyalty enough lately either.

"this has nothing to do with mysaria. and it is not that your actions do not satisfy me, but can you not understand my desire to lay eyes upon the people who have taken my own sons? i did not even have a body to burn in luke's case, nothing left of him but to bring justice to his death. and jace - he was a foolish boy to fly into battle with no experience, but he was my boy, daemon. and he is gone now, too. you are the only one i trust to act as my arm and sword in matters concerning my children and though i am certain you had your reasons, you have still denied me my wish. this was the last thing i could do for jace - and now i cannot." her throat was thick with the tears she tried to swallow down and she willed it to remain steady, despite her own emotions welling up. though it was less anger and more of the earth shattering sadness she kept bottled up inside, because there was no time to be weak.

He has never met his siblings in person before. Mostly just through letters from them or mother. Standing in front of her now with Tessarion not too far behind, staring them down. A protective stance even in front of family.

It is change to have grown up with a little brother she only knows from occasional letters and vague memories of when he had been a small boy. She will never understand her mother's decision to send one of her children away indefinitely, especially not as a mother herself, but she assumes there were reasons for it. Perhaps it was best for Daeron to grow up elsewhere, not surrounded by so much animosity and rivalry as they have experienced here. So to lay eyes upon him for the first time - it has caused Helaena a whole night's sleep.

She is not good with people, she reckons, always lost in her own world and rarely eloquent with words. So she has been nervous all morning, for what big sister does not wish to be liked by her own brother? It has hardly worked with Aegon and Aemond, but perhaps at least one of them might see more in her than a nuisance and failure?

he   half   expected   to   find   her   face   in   jest   when   he   turned.   instead,   he   saw   the   glossy   eyes   full   of   pleas   she   used   to   have   on   her   face   years   ago   when   he'd   denied   telling   her   thrilling   stories.   only   this   time,   her   mouth   wore   a   broken   down   smile.   daemon   furrowed   his   brows,   realizing   these   were   the   first   words   rhaenyra   had   spoken   to   him   since   last   night,   after   their   argument   had   died.   it   made   better   sense,   the   posed   question,   but   still   he   thought   they   were   above   such   phrases.

he   found   it   hard   to   understand   that   not   everyone   took   love   as   he   did.   certainly   not   his   wife.   she   relied   on   words,   while   daemon   had   never.   he   was   a   man   of   action,   for   words   could   be   untrue.

hadn't   he   shown   her   enough   years   into   their   marriage?   hadn't   he   fought   for   her   sons,   for   their   inheritance,   for   their   justice?   anger   whirred   in   his   body,   but   he   managed   to   let   none   manifest.   he   simply   looked   at   rhaenyra,   in   his   sleeping   shirt.   he   remembered   years   back   when   she'd   asked   if   he'd   loved   laena.   it   did   not   matter   to   him,   but   to   her?   it   had.   it   mattered   now   that   she   yearned   to   hear   those   words   for   herself.

❝   three   nights   ago,   when   i   was   atop   you,   did   you   not   feel   loved   ?   ❞   daemon   stepped   closer   to   the   bed's   dais.   ❝   i   lay   with   you   not   out   of   husbandly   duty.   i   do   not   think   of   making   heirs.   i   think   of   pleasure.   yours   and   mine.   ❞   he   was   affectionate   then,   as   he   usually   was,   touching   her   softly   and   placing   her   comfort   before   his   cravings.   he'd   held   her   close   all   night,   kissed   the   back   of   her   neck.   ❝   when   i   crowned   you   and   proclaimed   you   queen   —   was   that   out   of   something   else   ?   when   i   promise   you   a   throne,   is   that   not   out   of   love,   rhaenyra   ?   ❞

he   couldn't   name   all   the   things   between   them,   but   he   went   for   the   grandest   of   all.   his   loyalty,   his   belief   in   her,   his   devotion   to   their   legacy   —   what   else   was   it   if   not   love?   though   it   was   hard   to   use   those   words,   daemon   wouldn't   deny   the   truth   in   them.   even   striking   helaena's   child   had   been   an   act   of   love   for   the   prince.   when   blood   had   to   be   spilled,   he   spilled   it   gladly   for   her.

She seldom tested his patience by doubting him. Not out of fear, but love for peace, because Daemon was not always willing to accept he was lacking in something. Her question had not been born out of malice or anger, but sadness instead. Yes, he served her in the ways he knew best and she did not doubt his loyalty, but that was not everything. Love had many faces and one of them was honesty, another carrying out her wishes as she voiced them.

"What you speak of are pleasures of the flesh, Daemon. I don't doubt you worship my body the same way you did when you took me as your wife. They may be part of love but there is more to it than that." Her eyes lifted to meet his and she ground her teeth, sucking in a breath, before averting her gaze again. "I asked you to bring the rider of Sheepstealer to me and you killed him. When I asked you to enact revenge in the name of Lucerys, you had the wrong person killed. I do not question your loyalty and that you meant well, but twice now have I been denied the justice I sought for the deaths of my sons."

It was starting to show a lot that it had been a while since she has last been around people for a longer time. Or perhaps it was just children. The young princess could certainly talk and talk with no end in sight. It was … endearing, in a way. Yet a part of her found it irritating if only for the fact that she herself wasn’t the biggest talker. When Rhae asked about her sword, Lin had to think about it for a moment. She hadn’t named her sword yet, not having experienced anything that might inspire a name. Did that make her a bad knight after all? Elinor frowned for a moment. She didn’t have enough time to dwell on it, however, because a moment later the girl dragged her along into hiding. 

Prince Aerion.

She had heard many things about the prince and had always wondered how much of it was true and what might have been exaggeration of the common folk. She waited until the prince had passed before she spoke again. “Are you afraid of your brother, princess?” It had to be either fear or annoyance that would cause the girl to go into hiding and as far as she could tell, she didn’t seem like someone to hide because she simply did not wish to speak to someone. 

Heavy footsteps approached their hiding spot and Rhae tensed until they passed by and disappeared down the hall. A sigh of relief escaped her, before she looked up at Elinor in the dim light behind the tapestry. "Yes, he is not right in the head. He threw out kittens down the well and went into Egg's bedchamber at night with a knife, threatening to cut off his...you know what, because he thinks he has too many brothers. Something has gone very wrong with him and I avoid him at any cost", she told the knight, before stepping out into the corridor again. It was a lot less dusty and stuffy out here and she breathed in deeply, which led to several sneezes.

"excuse me, miss. you look lost. might I help you?" rhaenyra's attention would be called by a boy whom she had thought claimed by the sea. luceryse had survived his encounter with vhagar but ultimately lost both arrax and his memory as a result. rescued by an elderly couple in a fishing hamlet, he was given food and lodging in return for honest work. corlys had instilled in his heir the skills necessary to one day be a fine sailor. he employed his teachings now, selling what fish he caught in a modest stand in the hamlet. "your dress is so fine. you're not from around here, are you?"

@wcrriorhearts

whatever awed opinion at the sight of king's landing and its vast walls and the exciting city it holds and the endless sea just beyond the keep's view has long faded. it feels, sometimes, like the noises and the bustling of it all is no more than a dull sound merely playing at the far, far back of her mind. in her head, constantly, rhea yearns for the wide expanse of the vale instead : the green that stretches as far as the eyes could see. the unpredictability of the ground as it steepens or climbs or buries it in holes or uneven terrain. she misses so desperately the feel of her own body on horseback; the strength of her steed under her hear, the complete discipline she exacts at every game she successfully hunts.

the crowd erupts just as her good-sister giggles, and rhea cannot help but be startled, turning to her and, as instantly, feels the dullness of her own expression gives away to something softer. kinder. until her eyes follow the line of sight to what her cousin was seeing, and something like the winter frost crawls and ensnares her heart. rhea composes her expression, though she is sure the hardening of it is unmistakeable. even here, now, daemon targaryen exists to her more myth than man despite clearly witnessing him: in her mind, he is far by the sea, and she the mountains. they should not have met, let alone be matched with.

queen alysanne had lied, but rhea cannot speak it aloud. that would be traitorous, unforgiveable.

aemma's giddiness vanishes as quickly as it has come, because the hardening of her cousin's face has not gone unnoticed. just like her and viserys, rhea and daemon are the wrong match, but there is little either one of the girls can do about it. they had no say in the matter and no one will listen to their complaints. marriage bonds are forged till death and she is not desperate enough to hope for viserys to depart this earth sooner than expected. that would be quite disgraceful.

rhea's smile returns quickly and she teases aemma, who returns a grin in earnest. "my darling, why would i not be allowed to enjoy an ale or two? i am not with child, i am young and of good health - they can deny me many pleasures, but not this one." she laughs, the sound crystal clear and tugs her cousin along through the tent city, knowing very well where ale and wine are flowing freely. aemma is not a drinker and doesn't handle alcohol well, so she will not overindulge, but she fully intends to enjoy herself this fine day. there is very little excitement in her life ordinarily, so every occasion that disrupts the monotony is very appreciated.