"Better the shield that your skull," you countered. You lowered your weapon extending a hand down to help your elder brother to his feet, "You're getting better you'll be tourney ready in no time," you joked, both knowing he had held no chance of winning.

"You should just compete instead of me. We both know it would bring you great joy to compete, and you hold a better chance of winning," he suggested as he stood back to his full height.

"I think our father's heart would stop if I competed. Plus, I have no interest in jousting. It is fun to watch, but not for me," you told him.

"Why are we training hand-to-hand again?" he asked, watching you grab another shield for him.

"Because in case you are forced to fight someone hand-to-hand. Egg is very excited to squire for you and I don't want him to be disappointed when he realizes how much of a shit knight you are even after training with a master of arms."

You went went one more round ending the same way, Daeron on his back as you shattered yet another shield. "I yield. I'm done...I need a drink to continue," the elder said he stumbled back into the castle, causing you to roll your eyes,

Your father, Maekar, who had been watching for quite some time now approached. Your back was turned to him as you picked the weapons from the ground, re-racking them, "You shouldn't humiliate your brother," he called out, though a small grin crossed his lips as you turned to face him.

"He's to be my husband one day should I not start trying to get him to act apprioapte now?" you ask, with a shrug, ignoring the small taste of disdain the thought always left in your mouth.

Neither of you truly wanted to wed the other, but Maekar did not want you, his eldest daughter, to go far. So, alas Daeron and yourself would marry eventually, but both hoped it wouldn't be for a long, long, long time.

Or unless he managed to drink himself to death for first, and then you were sure to be married to the Aerion. Which sounded like a worse option to you.

The father smiled sadly, "I am glad you have decided to come with us to the tourney," he said changing the subject.

"I would never miss a chance to watch my brothers be humiliated by hedge knights and men they deem lesser than them," you told him, a wide grin filling your face at the thought.

Maekar chuckled slightly, shaking his head, "Why don't we go in and break fast. The rest of your siblings will be up soon," he said, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to bring you inside. "How did you get Daeron up so early?" he then asked.

You chuckled at the question before looking up at him your violet eyes filled with mischief, "I dumped water of him and drug him out here."

"A mace is my weapon of choice," he told you as you entered inside the castle.

"I know. That's why I chose it," you replied. He grinned down at you pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

a knight of the seven kingdoms tags: @kyvillasstuff @goldengirl86 @scarletwolfxox @witch-of-letters @confusedwhitegirl10

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“Please…please…please,” you beg them to stop under your breath.

However, they don’t go silent. The cries just grow louder and drown out Aemond’s announcement after he’s made his move across the board.

He does try to call you again, but you remain lost in the horrible wave of cries.

“Please…please—”

The begging comes to an abrupt stop as a warm hand cups your shoulder and gently shakes you, snapping you out of your trance to find Alicent, your dearest mother.

“Darling, are you alright? Your brother is calling you,” she points out with concern in her big brown eyes that have the power of pulling you from the deepest depths of your mind.

“Uh, yes,” you stammer and focus back on the game, taking no time to think of a counter move, which returns Aemond to a pondering state and lets you take advantage of your mother's presence to blurt out a question that’s been floating in your mind since those cries haunted your dreams.

“Mother?” You call gently for her attention as you drift your eyes toward her.

“Yes?” She probes as she turns away from Helaena and finds your curious gaze tainted with horror.

“What happens when we die? Where do we go? What do we see?” You ask, catching her off guard. Questions of this matter aren’t strange, children are curious and far more so growing up religious. She’s had such curiosities before, but this is so sudden and delivered without that childlike innocence that it’s usually dripping with.

It’s almost as if you knew the response somewhere deep within you. You’re just looking for confirmation.

“Well,” Alicent breathes out uneasily as she feels the eyes of her other children on her as well. “If we’re—”

“I asked my septa,” you cut her off after you heard her voice softening to utter the same lies your septa had told you as to not frighten you, but they don’t realize that death is perhaps the one thing that frightens you the least. After all, you’ve known death ever since you can remember. You’ve seen its many faces in your horrid dreams; the beauty of it, the tranquility, the fear, and the anger. What you don’t know. What you can’t dream of is where death takes someone after.

“…she said everyone joins the gods,” you continue with frustration. “But there are bad people out there. Sinners, and…Rhaenyra, whom you claim is a sinner for having bastards and wanting to take Aegon’s throne. Where do they go? Where does she go?”

Alicent swallows thickly and glances around her, seeing she’s lost Aegon and Helaena’s interest and only kept Aemond’s. Albeit that is lost too when she passes him a speechless, pressing look that makes him move away so she can take his spot across from you.

After that, regret for spewing all those terrible things about Rhaenyra in front of you this early on then crosses her face, but thankfully, you don’t catch that. You’re waiting for the truth with fear and desperation.

“Well,” she starts off by saying as she rubs her earlobe and tries to find the best way to speak to her youngest daughter, who's trusting her for an honest answer.

“I suppose that the world isn’t as simple as we want it to be,” she continues, and you cling onto her every word with deep trust—“Those bad people. Those sinners go to one of the seven hells to pay for what they did in the mortal world, while pure-hearted people, people who have done their due diligence and have kept faith, go with the gods.”

You hum in comprehension and lower your eyes to think over what she just said.

“You, of course, go to the deepest depths of all seven hells for being a brat, sister,” Aegon blurts lazily, causing Alicent to whisper a sharp warning, whilst you just side eye him before you draw in a deep breath and drift your focus back to your mother as you still think of her response.

“What about Rhaenyra? Is she really damned to one of the seven hells?” You ask as if it shouldn't have been an obvious answer, but Alicent’s hatred for Rhaenyra does not resound within you. Not deeply. Hate, in fact, is an unknown feeling within you; all you know is what you’ve heard, and that is that Rhaenyra is meant to be someone you cannot trust. Someone scheming behind the King, your shared father. However, perhaps you’re too young to truly understand because hate is just a word, and she is simply Princess Rhaenyra. The woman with the bastard children.

“That is something…only the gods know, sweetling,” Alicent responds with her eyes on her fidgeting fingers.

When silence fills the air as your response, she looks back up at you and finds you losing yourself in your thoughts, so assuming you fear your future, she finally finds the confidence she’s been lacking and leans forward to cup your hands, making your eyes flicker up to her.

“But you, my dear, have nothing to fear,” she tries to reassure you. “You are gentle and pure-hearted. You will be with the gods after you’ve lived a long and beautiful life.” She smiles with awe, brightening her eyes, making your heart ease, and relinquishing that riddling fear that kept you on edge even though you know deep within that they’re just words.

Oh, how you wish it were true though…

“What brought up this matter? Has your septa lost herself in her passions again?” Your mother giggles, but when she sees that you don’t even flash her a smile, her laugh dies off, and a nervous smile tugs on her face instead.

“I was just…curious,” you mumble and avert your gaze to look for an escape as you slip your hands from her hold.

Yet, you should’ve known better than to lie in her face.

She reads your tells, and a spark flickers in her brown eyes that makes the warmth behind them start to burn as she looks at you with a pressing look.

“You’re lying,” she points out seriously. “Did someone say something? One of Rhaenyra’s boys?”

With your eyes averted, you make sure to quickly shake your head to deny her accusation.

“I was…merely…curious…” you trail off and start picking at the cuticles around your nails. Only concerning her more.

“Tell me,” she demands softly. “I wish to know.”

Your eyes slowly return to her, but you aren’t moved by her pressure. You keep hesitating, knowing that she won't understand.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t let you return home on dragonback,” she threatens right at your weak point, leaving you unable to muster the strength to stand your ground now.

“My dreams,” you blurt. “They come to me often, and sometimes I dream of…death…” you trail off in a whisper and look out the window to watch the lapping waves that start to sound like agonizing cries again. “But never…what happens after,” you continue and let out a deep, shaky breath, missing her gulp, and missing her rubbing her chest as she looks around for some clarity or something that tells her that you’re only jesting.

However, Aegon and Helaena are not paying attention, and Aemond looks too shocked for this to be a jest that your brothers put you up to.

“You don’t understand,” you point out without having to look at her. Her silence gave her away. “I knew you wouldn’t,” you mumble and drop your head to pick at your cuticles again. “Only Helaena understands.”

At the mention, the concerned brown eyes glance at her oldest daughter, who is now attentive to the conversation and just lets out a deep sigh before she focuses back on you.

“Perhaps not, but I wish to try,” she says softly, but with a nervous hint she cannot hide. “Is that all you dream of?”

You scoff at her lack of understanding and pick at your cuticles harder, feeling your heartbeat start to pick up at the thought of scaring her away from you.

“You know now that we’re speaking on this matter, your father mentioned once that sometimes Targaryen’s are…dreamers. Maybe…this is the same,” she says, piquing your interest.

“Father said that?” You probe with your eyes widening with curiosity

“Yes.” She nods. “Once, on Aegon’s second name day.”

With a breath of relief, you find the motivation to finally offer her what she wants to know, even though she does not believe what Viserys had told her. She just wanted you to talk.

“My dreams…are hardly ever clear. They come to me like a puzzle that I need to solve to get a clear picture. Some come easier than others, but mostly they’re difficult to understand because…I-I don’t recognize who appears, what’s happening, or when it’s happening. They’re trying to warn me, but I don’t know…what they’re trying to warn me about.”

Your mother hums, and without trying to push you back into that shell, she quickly follows up with a doubtful question. “How do you know your dreams are not due to your imagination? You’re young, your mind bound to be very active.”

The illusion that she’d understand falters, and fear starts to make your heartbeat pick up again, but you don’t retreat. You just look at her with a haunted look and share what you’ve recently dreamt of.

“I dreamt of us,” you share in a shaky voice, causing her eyes to narrow with curiosity. “We were older, wary, and terrified, for we were walking through a field of death that was slowly being consumed by a sea of blood that rose like a tide. We try and try, but no matter our efforts, we cannot escape the field, so the sea of blood reaches us. You try to keep me afloat, but it’s too much, too heavy...” you trail off, hoping she’ll understand what followed.

Yet it’s not clear if she does. She just looks at you wide-eyed and disturbed, making you pull back and duck your head.

Alicent notices and quickly tries to assure you. “No, no, my darling. You just caught me by surprise.”

“Do you believe me?” You ask in a small voice as you glance up at her again. “I know it sounds silly, but in my heart,” your voice shakes, and your hands tremble as you hit your chest. “In my bones, I know that what I dream of is true. It just hasn’t happened yet.”

Alicent looks at your desperation and reaches over to cup your cheek and gently caress it. “I believe you,” she speaks sweetly and with sincerity, but you don’t detect the lie behind her words. You just feel the comfort.

“Helaena and I sometimes dream of the same thing, like of Aemond,” you pause and glance at said boy, but before you can share what you dreamt of him, your mother interjects.

“I believe you.”

You let out a relieved breath and lean into her touch.

“Just remember your faith when those dreams torment you too much, hm?” She offers a solution—A treatment. “It will ease your nerves and comfort you when all those things disturb your peace.”

Taking her words as genuine comfort and not hearing her uneasiness, you take her advice.

“Why don’t we actually say some of those prayers now?” She asks with her whole body tense. “It will keep us occupied while we wait to get to Driftmark.”

“Okay,” you utter happily and obliviously.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“Do we have to go?” You drawl out as you trace lazy circles on the oak desk. “We didn’t even know her.”

Without looking away from Helaena, your mother utters the same argument she had already given you before. “Yes, it’s expected of us because Lady Laena was your uncle's wife.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you dig your nail against the oak now.

“And sometimes there will be times where we will have to do things we don’t want to do because it is our duty as the family of the king,” she keeps going on. “Which is why it’s best to face these matters with grace, that way you aren’t known as unkind and disrespectful. That’s the worst thing a princess can be.”

Your lips curl with displeasure, and before she can keep annoying you further, you change the subject. “I miss Daeron.”

“As do I,” Helaena finally breaks her silence. “When do you think we'll be able to see him again?”

“Can we go to him on dragonback?” You bounce off her question with enthusiasm. “You can go too and ride with Helaena on Dreamfyre since she’s the biggest.”

Finally, Alicent is finished with your sister, but rather than responding with glee, she sighs deeply before she gets up to her given height. “You’re all too young to ride alone on dragonback to Oldtown. Perhaps when you’re older we can go over that idea again. As for now, we’ll wait until he settles down before we plan a visit, okay?” She offers consolation with a half smile, and even if you’re displeased by her turning down your idea to ride to your brother on dragonback, you find her solution satisfying enough to muster a small smile.

“You’re all ready, so why don’t we head out now?” She adds, letting you skip to Helena to walk out of the room by her side to talk about your youngest brother.

“I bet Tessarion will be so much bigger when we see her again,” you bring up with a much wider smile than the one you flashed at your mother.

“Daeron said he’ll be a man when we see him again,” she adds in a much more nonchalant manner. “Will that be true or will he still be scared of the dark?”

You giggle, and when you do, your laugh echoes down the small stone corridor. A detail that’s quite amusing in the back of your head because it seemed impossible with how quaint the castle is, but that marks another surprise.

The first surprise was how chilly it is in the castle. It's always warm at the Red Keep, just like how the corridors are hardly ever lonely because servants, guards, or lords and ladies are almost always there keeping the corridors alive. Not like here…it’s quiet enough that you can hear the crashing waves outside and the doors creaking throughout the corridors.

The size of the castle makes you wonder how Lord Velaryon can host so many people within the walls, because the moment you step out to the blaring sun and chilly wind to join him and Princess Rhaenys to send off their late daughter, you notice how many have come all this way to pay their respects.

She must’ve been deeply respected and known by others—

Will a big crowd gather when you die, you wonder. Will they weep as they weep for Lady Laena? Or will they drift off out of boredom like Aegon?

Will their minds wander like yours does as you finally note the vast differences between your twin cousins, Lady Baela and Rhaena, and your…nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys?

When the boys lived in the Red Keep, your mother would always go on and on about them and how disrespectful and appalling they were, “they’re a clear stain, a disgrace.” However, to you, they were just Jacaerys and Lucerys; they were kind, and when they hung around Aegon, they were annoying and rude, but you didn’t see what your mother saw.

Now that you see how they’re supposed to look like, with their silver curly hair and brown complexion, you start to realize that your mother was right and they are bastards…Their pale complexion and dark straight hair are loud now.

Yet does that make them any different in your eyes?

You ponder on that question as the funeral service drags on, and think about what your mother thinks of them. You try to share your mother's thoughts.

Yet…nothing changes as you watch them. They continue to be Jace and Luke…

“Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of threads…”

Helaena’s words continue like a mantra, having no sense to them, or none that you currently care to figure out. Not because the book in your hands is keeping you distracted and not because the banquet you have to be at after the funeral is distracting; the banquet is dreadfully boring and the book turned out to be less than enticing, so your mind wanders and wanders until it’s past the commotion of the banquet and met once again with those agonizing cries that blend with the crashing waves that lay beyond the courtyard.

They beckon you to follow the sound as torturous as it is to your mind, but you know the rules; you are not to leave this courtyard. Those words are like a whisper in your mind and just strong enough to keep you from breaking your mother's rule.

But like a whisper, it’s quick to be drowned out by the much louder commotion. No matter how hard you try to remember that simple rule, the cries are louder until that’s all you can hear and think about, so as if in a trance, you abandon the book on the cold ground, and with a distant, entranced look, you get up from your spot beside your sister and father and slowly walk to where the waves crash against the sand.

Nevertheless, before you can even leave the tent you were under, a small and sharp grip takes you by the arm and pulls you out of your trance, putting your focus on Aemond, who now stands before you with his eyes squinted against the blaring sun.

“I need you to tell me what your dream about me was. The one you almost told mother,” he says, and because your mind is once again thinking about those waves that sound like cries, you recall what he’s talking about.

However, instead of questioning why he’s only bringing it up now, you grow excited at the thought of him believing that what you spoke of is true.

“You believe me?” You ask with awe, and due to his already squinted eyes and your obliviousness, you don’t know if he’s being genuine when he responds or just waiting for what you have to say to deem you one thing or the other.

“I-I do,” he hesitates to say. Not like it matters to you, you think back to the dream and share it happily because it no longer has to be kept to yourself.

“Well…I don’t know what it meant, but we…were here in this courtyard and you were looking down at your feet. Only the stars and the moon were out, illuminating the night sky and one half of you. The other half was covered by…dark shadows, forbidding me from making out that half. When I called out your name and got closer, you dropped your hand and,” you pause and gulp, making him impatient.

“And what?” He urges you to go on as he shakes you.

“You lifted your head and dropped your hand,” you continue in a softer and almost haunting voice. “I could make out the outline of your face but,” you pause and let out a deep breath whilst Aemond tilts his head with interest.

“That space where your eye is meant to be was like a dark void. I tried to look harder, hoping to find an answer. Something to tell me what it meant, but the darkness wouldn’t lift. It just kept pulling me in until finally there was a flash of light and a dragon eye looked back at me,” you finish saying and take a minute to settle yourself down before you question him again with excitement.

“You believe me?

Aemond finally lets go of you and looks down as he shrugs. “Well, none of that was actually clear to understand.”

You bat your eyes and scoff. “It never comes to me like that. It’s like I told mother, it comes to me like a puzzle. But you believe that it’s meant to mean something, right?” Your eyes light up.

Not knowing what to think of the dream, Aemond just looks you in the eyes and is kind enough not to break your heart. “Yes,” he deadpans.

You draw out a deep, relieved breath and smile at him blissfully before you throw your arms around him, catching him by surprise. Not because affection is rare between you. It’s also not as common as your affection for Helaena and your mother; it’s simply once in a blue moon, so when you share your affection, he’s caught off guard but not bothered.

He welcomes your kindness and warmth, after all, it’s something he needs to get used to, doesn’t he? You’ll be getting married like Helaena and Aegon to keep the bloodline pure.

Albeit that doesn’t mean he believes that cryptic dream of yours. He doesn’t have to if you’re to be man and wife. Not if they sound like a crazy tall tale.

Still, he loses himself in what you told him, letting you slip away to continue toward your previous destination uninterrupted and unseen since he doesn’t cause a scene, and nothing stands between you and those tortured cries.

You follow them past the cold sand that tries to pull you down with every step you take, and towards the cold water that rolls in like deep draws of breath until the sharp waves lap over your ankles like begging hands looking for salvation.

Yet when you look down, there’s no hands reaching out of the water, there’s blood slowly seeping out from around you; hot, burning blood that causes steam to rise off the watery surface and spread out toward the horizon line where battered ships lie in their watery graves, polluting the air with smoke fire, and polluting the water with debris.

Pieces of fabric that once used to be flags flutter in the wind from the ship's poles, black and green fabrics that no longer hold their sigil to identify them. Yet, what does it matter when they’re just bits and pieces suffering the same fate?

And for what?

What does all this mean?

Why can’t it all come clearly?

Please…

“Child?”

An unknown voice calls out to you, making you slowly turn your head around with tears gleaming in your tormented eyes, noticing your uncle, Prince Daemon, or so your mother says. You only met him today.

“What are you doing?” He asks, puzzled and uneasy.

You lower your head and notice that the ocean water is blue again and no longer releasing steam.

“Dreaming,” you mutter. “I suppose.”

Silence follows, so you slowly lift your head and look toward the clear horizon and point.

“What was it all for? The spilling of blood and the loss of…salvation?” You speak with no control of your running mouth and then turn to Daemon with tears running down your cheeks.

The man standing on the dry sand looks at you, bewildered and more uneasy before he collects himself and looks at you like you’re crazy.

“Go back to your mother, girl,” he orders.

The vision of your dream is all gone, so you trudge out of the water and watch him walk away from the castle, wondering for a second how he must feel after losing his wife.

It must be completely terrible, but he doesn’t look at all distraught. Is it because he’s a man, you wonder before you think of how you’d be after the loss of the love of your life, and well…all you know is that you’ll wish to be as collected as him.

Nevertheless, you start to head back up to the courtyard, but stop as you reach the stone stairs and run into Rhaenyra walking down them.

She doesn’t say anything, and you lose all your ability to speak, so she just averts her gaze and quickly slips past you, leaving you to watch her walk in the same direction Daemon took off to.

If your mother saw this, it would be cause for alarm you’re sure, but you don’t run off to tell her. You keep watching Rhaenyra until she’s out of sight and then turn your head away to look at your path ahead, catching at that moment, up in the courtyard, a young boy with soft red hair leaning against the stone railing and watching the horizon.

Even with the sun out and imbuing him with sun rays, his hair doesn't blaze bright red like fire. It remains soft like…autumn leaves. That’s what catches your attention before your gaze falls to his thin face still holding some of that roundness of his inexperience and young age.

The color of his eyes is hard to tell from where you are, but they don’t look to hold an ounce of meanness or annoyance. They look warm, kind, and full of wonder.

What could he be wondering about, you wonder as you look at his pale face that keeps you entranced.

Nothing that’s entranced you before has made you want to keep watching. Not until him.

And unlike those visions caused by your dreams, he’s really there, and he…catches you staring.

Oh no, no.

With haste, you look away and continue up the stairs, pretending that you hadn’t been staring, and hoping to avoid him.

Albeit that may be impossible, and you’re proven correct right away when you glance up and see him looking down at you as he walks in the same direction as you from the top of the courtyard.

Thus, you stop abruptly, hoping he’ll walk away, but he stops too and begins to smirk.

It must just be a coincidence, though, so you resume and take a couple of steps up the stairs, noticing right away, however, that he also begins to take a couple of steps forward, proving that this isn't a coincidence. He’s…copying you. He wasn’t creeped out. In fact, that smirk on his pale face only deepens with amusement, so you take this as a sign and take advantage of the moment by taking a step down, seeing him take a step back.

Finally, an amused smile tugs on your face that matches his amused smirk, and you jump to the next step, making him hop his next step.

You giggle and then slowly walk up the stairs with him following you forward.

When you make it to the top of the stairs, he reaches the edge and turns around to face you at the same time you turn to face him, the not-so-mysterious guest who caught your eye and makes your heart skip a beat.

It’s a strange feeling that makes you concerned for a second before you push that feeling aside and can’t help but think that he looks better than the hero’s drawn in the books. Better than Ser Criston. He’s handsome like a divine god with his downturned green eyes, and his tallness that does anything but intimidate you like other tall boys do. His tallness makes him intriguing, safe.

But who is he?

He doesn’t work at Driftmark; his ivory colored silk chemise and golden vest are too fine, his face too clean, and his curly, cropped hair too neat. And the sigil on his chest is not from the realm. You’ve spent too much time learning who all the sigils belong to not to know. So he must be from across the narrow sea, and if you recall the conversations your handmaidens had about the fancy and shiny visitors that followed Prince Daemon to Driftmark, this young boy must be son of the Prince of Pentos.

“My Prince,” you greet with a curtsy.

“My Princess,” he greets just as kindly in return with a bow of his own.

When his gaze finds yours again, you realize that his eyes are a soft green, soft like his red hair, soft like pale skin. Soft like autumn.

Can a season be personified?

“Where are my manners,” he says, pulling you back to the moment. “I am Octavian Haratis, Prince of Pentos.”

The corner of your lips tugs up into a smile. “I know,” you tell him, getting him flustered.

You then realize what so quickly escaped your mouth and scoff in embarrassment. You then are about to drop your head, but a beautiful approaching figure then catches your attention.

“What,” he chuckles as what you said replays in his head. “What were you—”

Before he can finish, though, like a taunt or a warning, a silver dragon dives from the sky and flies over your heads like an arrow whizzing through the air.

Prince Octavian ducks quickly while you can’t help your smile as you watch your dragon flying away and showing off how absolutely he is made with his icy blue dipped wings spread in the air, his icy blue crests running down from the back of his head to his long tail, and those beautiful long twisting icy blue and silver horns that come out of his head and point to the sky.

“Is that dragon yours?!” Prince Octavian exclaims with lingering surprise and fascination.

“Yes,” you claim him proudly. “His name is Valiant. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Oh absolutely,” he says with awe. “No matter how long Prince Daemon and his family stayed with us, I still am not used to seeing them. How big is your dragon? Was he born to you like Moondancer to Baela?”

“No, he found me, so I ended up bonding with him. He’s as big as Sunfyre, my brother's dragon, though! So he’s pretty big. Albeit,” you pause and sigh, causing Prince Octavian to look away from the circling dragon to meet your gaze with curiosity.

“My dragon,” you continue. “Is mute. He doesn’t make any noise, so he’s not well-liked by the others. The dragon masters said he must’ve damaged his vocal cords when he was young somehow.”

“Well, I think that only makes him cooler. That way, he’s stealthier with his prey or anyone you want to attack.”

You smile giddily, and just as he’s going to continue, someone interrupts him.

“Princess,” Ser Criston calls out before he comes into view as people make way for him to reach you. “Your mother is looking for you,” he claims as he scans over the boy you’re talking to with a pointed and threatening look.

“Right,” you sigh and face Prince Octavian once more with a shy smile. “Perhaps I’ll see you again soon.” You hope.

“I hope we will,” he returns your sentiment with a sweet smile before he bows, making you curtsy in return before you’re quickly ushered away.

“You ought not to wander strangers’ castles alone,” Ser Criston nags you like he tends to do and like your father never cares to do. “And you especially ought not to talk to that boy without your brothers or mother present.”

“It was just an innocent conversation,” you defend the prince. “That’s all. And I was making my way back to my mother, actually.”

“Not fast enough apparently.”

You giggle, and he pats your shoulder.

“Go,” he says and points to Helaena, now standing near your mother. “Stay with your sister.”

You grin widely at Helaena before you skip and run over to her, catching your mother's immediate attention. Albeit she didn’t look as concerned as Ser Criston made it out to be.

“Oh, dearest, where have you been? Why is your gown all wet?” She immediately presses you as she focuses on the bottom of your dress.

“I went down by the water because,” you pause and think if you want to tell her why you were really in the water. But, there’s too many people nearby, and she’ll only worry, so you opt not to. Yet. “I saw something,” you say instead, before someone interjects.

“And she was talking to the son of the Prince of Pentos,” Ser Criston proclaims as if you did a bad thing.

And maybe by the way Helaena reacts, you did

“You talked to a boy?” She asks, surprised.

“He was asking about Valiant,” you choose to leave out some other parts. “That’s all.”

Your mother shakes her head. “You ought not to talk to boys alone. And you shouldn't have wet your gown.”

“Sorry,” you apologize in a small voice. “It won’t again,” you promise her without actually meaning it. And by the way you spoke, she knows that too, so she just sighs and shakes her head.

“Go,” she says and points her head to the castle. “Go inside with your sister. I’ll be there soon.”

You nod in comprehension before you follow your sister inside, checking over your shoulder once, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prince, but only seeing other guests and your father instead. Which is not a pleasant sight.

——

*LATER*

A knock raps on the door before the heavy wooden doors open, and a small servant with her head covered in a head scarf walks in with a silver tray.

“Tea and honey for the princess,” the servant reveals her purpose in a raspy and fragile voice.

“Just leave it near the bed,” your handmaiden points to the nightstand before she stops brushing your hair and leans in over your shoulder. “Remember to drink, okay? It’ll help keep those bad dreams away.”

You lower your eyes and frown sadly in silent disagreement.

Ever since you told your mother the depths of your dreams, she’s insisted you drink some nasty and bitter tea that does not taste any better with honey, nor does it keep the dreams away, but you take it to ease her mind since she doesn’t seem to truly understand like she said she did.

Perhaps she will with time…

“Thanks, Madalaine,” you talk to the vanity as you take the brush from her grasp. “I can finish the rest myself.”

Your handmaid hesitates and looks at you confused before she has no choice but to obey.

“Alright, sweet girl. Goodnight.”

You lift your gaze to smile at her reflection depicted on the small vanity mirror. “Goodnight.”

The sweet blond handmaid steps back and curtsies before she makes her way out, leaving only the old servant left in the bedchamber with you, but you just watch her finally set the tray down and expect her to slowly make her way out after that.

You don't pay her any mind after that. You start to hope. Hope that your mother will understand the dreams that haunt you. The dreams that tell no tall tales, only the truth in fragments that can belong at any moment in time.

And if not her, anyone. Heleana is tormented by her own dreams, so even if she understands, it doesn’t get rid of the loneliness.

“Sweet girl,” the old servant interjects, surprising you. “Please drink your tea. It’ll grow cold. Unless you want someone to feed it to you.”

Immediately, your eyebrows furrow in disbelief, and you slowly look back to see where her audacity came from, and instead of seeing a fragile old lady, you’re caught off guard by the young boy pulling off the scarf and revealing his soft, curly red hair.

“Wh—” You gasp and abruptly get up from your seat to face him, tense and nervously.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper sharply to raise any alarm from the many Kingsguard patrolling the corridor. “You’re not allowed to be here! You’ll get us both in trouble!”

“Only if you talk any louder and rat me out,” he whisper-shouts in return as he steps forward, making you take a big step back and bump into the vanity, causing some glass bottles to fall over and clink together.

Right away, since it’s out of the ordinary, a knock follows to rap on your door. “Princess, is everything alright?” You hear Ser Criston ask from behind the door.

You part your lips to respond with the truth, but then Prince Octavian whispers before you do. “Please,” he begs with his hands pressed together in front of him. “I’ll be out quickly.”

You gulp and think only for a second because any longer and Ser Criston would grow suspicious.

“Yes…Ser Criston,” you trust the Prince. “Everything’s alright.”

The man’s footsteps don’t hesitate to recede, letting you shoot a pointed look at the Prince. “What are you doing here?” You immediately interrogate him. “You can’t be here.” You point your brush at him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he immediately clarifies in a young voice. “We just got interrupted before we could finish earlier.”

Your pointed glare falters, and you lower your brush.

“Finish what? How were you able to come in?” You stack, making the prince grin in amusement before she shows off the scarf and points to the tray.

“Took a servant's uniform. Overheard one of your mother's servants talk about your tea and made that my plan to get here,” he says with cocky ease. “Security is very lax everywhere but this floor, but if you keep your head low you’re harder to stand out. So blame your ever-so-talented Kingsguard for making it easy to sneak in.”

You glance at the door at the mention of the Kingsguard and then let out a deep breath before you ease away from the vanity. “Well, say whatever you want quickly. They’ll wonder why my candles are on so late.”

“Curfew,” he mocks. “Your brothers don’t have one.”

“Well, they’re boys. I do. Now…what do you want?” You press him as you stay where you are and watch him also ease up.

“Well, first, I’ve been wondering what you were doing by the water. I was watching you, and you were just…standing there watching…the horizon and…well, I wanted…to simply talk to you.”

Your breath hitches, and your eyebrows twitch with disbelief.

“Why?” You ignore everything else and let your skipping heart lead.

The prince shrugs. “Can’t I find you interesting and fascinating?” He flatters you with a grin, making your entire face burn up and your stomach to twist in a way it hasn’t before.

“Well,” you stammer. “I…don’t know.”

He chuckles and gently hits the scarf against his hand before he brings up his question. “So what were you doing?”

Your face falls, and your heart drops while you finally drop the tension from your shoulders and walk around him, keeping his undivided attention on you without a fault.

“Just looking at the horizon,” you lie and walk to the nightstand where he put your tea.

“Liar,” he immediately uncovers your lie, making you peer over your shoulder and keep lying just as badly.

“Nuh-uh. I…was.”

With heavy footsteps, he walks your way. “Liar,” he mouths. “What was it that captured your attention and seemed to make the fierce Prince Daemon uneasy?”

You look away and pick up the teacup.

“Does it have to do with your tea?” The Prince is quick to pick up the things left unsaid.

“No…” you trail off and mix the honey in the bitter tea. “Well…maybe, but that’s all I’ll say.”

“Why?”

You put the honey down and then pick up the little spoon. “Because.”

“Because why?” He insists on knowing and gets closer. “You know, Prince Daemon and his family stayed with us for a while. I know more about your family than you know. The twins would tell me.”

You take that into consideration, as well as your loneliness, and the fact that so few people understand what you were burdened with.

Maybe he’s just trying to make fun. It’s something Aegon put him up to, or one of the other boys.

Maybe he is simply curious.

Maybe he will understand and believe…

“I,” you pause and mix the honey with the tea before you turn to face him with a nervous look. “I was dreaming,” you choose to reveal the truth on a sliver of hope.

And in the shadows, green eyes that look like the color of bark on an autumn tree at sunset, look intrigued, flashing you the green of his eyes.

“Dreaming?”

You lower your gaze and nod softly. “In a way. Sometimes my dreams seep into my waking mind to haunt me.”

The prince hums and then surprises you. “Or to try and tell you something.”

You slowly trail your eyes up and look at him, bewildered that he would say that. Him out of all people, but there’s deception behind his eyes. Not that you can see.

“I,” you mutter and scoff with disbelief before you smile at your tea. “Sometimes think the same, but my dreams are never clear enough to know what it is they’re trying to tell me…I suppose it’s the curse to my burden.”

“What’s the blessing of that burden?” He follows up your comment with a question, making your breaths come easy and your body to finally completely relax.

“The burden itself. I just need to learn to understand.”

He hums and nods in comprehension. “Yes, I think so too.”

You hum and take a sip of the bitter tea, trying your best not to do a face when it makes its way down your throat.

“Now about your dragon, Valiant,” he proceeds to change the subject to something lighter, something that makes you smile before you laugh—“I love to do horse races. Is it the same for you with your dragon? I mean, I imagine the thrill is better on a dragon—”

Before he can finish, an urgent knock raps on the door before your handmaiden's voice travels out. “My princess, your presence is urgently required in the great hall. By your mother's command.”

Your eyes widen, and as you hear her hand land on the doorknob, you quickly yank Prince Octavian to the ground and help him drag himself under the bed by going on your knees and pushing him under.

When you get back up, the door swings open, and your unchanged handmaiden looks at you with an eyebrow raised with suspicion.

“What’s wrong? Why do you look out of breath?” She quickly points out as she makes her way to you. “And what was that thud?”

“I just fell out of bed by uh, sliding out of it too fast. You scared me,” you quickly come up with a cover, hoping for the best.

And, your handmaiden doesn’t seem to know any better this time, so she drops the questions, and as she reaches you, she grabs your shoulders.

“Well, you look presentable, so it looks like we don’t have to look for another layer. Come,” she beckons you to follow without letting you know why there’s a sudden urgency.

“Why? What happened?” You can’t help but ask.

Yet before you can know, your mother's handmaiden appears in the corridor outside of your bedchambers with your sister trailing behind her.

“What happened?” You ask now with panic.

“Your brother appeared to have gotten into some trouble,” your mother's handmaiden says curtly as she waits for you in the corridor.

“Aegon?”

“Aemond,” Helaena says before her eyes fall under your bed, catching the forbidden visitor and looking at you wide-eyed.

You reach her side and grab her arm before you shake your head lightly with wide eyes of your own.

Without a need for an explanation, she presses her lips together and looks forward as your mother's handmaiden leads the way to Lord Velaryon’s great hall. All whilst your handmaiden closes the doors to your bedchamber behind her before she walks off the other way, letting you let out a relieved breath.

That was very close.

It’s a good thing Helaena won’t rat you out because if you had been caught with a boy in your bedchamber, you’d be forbidden from dragonriding until you were sent off to be wed, and Aegon would never let you live it down. You would have also disappointed your mother, and that perhaps would’ve been a greater tragedy…

Alas, it didn’t happen, and you’re choosing to believe that the Prince will find his way now that everyone of importance in that corridor will be in the great hall with your mother and brother after whatever happened.

“Is Aemond alright?” You ask your mother's handmaiden with concern, making her peer back.

“I am not sure, Princess. Your mother sent me to take you and your sister to her while she tended to your brother.”

“Oh,” you whisper and feel a growing urgency to reach the great hall, but she won’t lead you any faster despite the small castle.

Thus, your mind wanders, and you come up with potential possibilities of what could have happened. All of which grow crazier than the last.

Yet, all those possibilities were a result of desperation because the scene that awaited you was one that felt familiar. Something you should have already expected to see.

“Mother,” you call out, announcing the presence of you and your sister to your unwavering mother crouched beside a tall wooden chair that must hold Aemond because the maester is at the other side pulling back a stitching needle, and your father, Aegon, nephews, cousins, Kingsguard, and other guests you don’t acknowledge are all looking in that same direction.

“What happened…” you trail off as you approach your mother and start to see a pile of bloody rags before you’re horrified by the sight of an entire eye left on the table by the maester.

It’s not an unbelievable sight, just gory and gruesome. You’ve seen blood, but you've never seen anyone’s body part not connected to their body, and now that you see it, your brother's eye outside of his body, you almost want to puke. But, you manage to hold it back out of respect for Aemond and just cover your mouth with your hands as you keep looking at the eye before you then look at your maimed brother, horrified.

“Oh no,” you gasp behind your hands. “He’ll surely never marry now,” your words come out muffled, but your mother hears them and snaps her back.

“Please,” she warns without a change in her distressed expression.

“Sorry,” you immediately lament before you lean toward Aemond as your mother turns back to look at your brother. “What happened?” You ask as you finally drop your hands to your sides, but not the horrified expression as you watch the maester mend Aemond’s gash over his eye together, causing your little brother to wince.

“There was an incident with the Velaryon boys and the twins,” your mother shares softly as she clutches her chest as the maester pulls the needle back. “They…they maimed your brother.”

You stand up straight and finally acknowledge the others, seeing that besides Lucerys clutching his bloody nose, neither the twins nor the boys were as badly wounded as Aemond was. They all have blood stains, but none have gashes or lost eyes. Just slight fear and nervousness. So you start to wonder why they attacked your little brother.

“Will he be okay?” You ask as you look down at your mother, continuing to look distressed.

“Yes,” she assures you quickly. “Of course he will.”

Despite her response, she doesn’t look reassured, so instead of standing with your sister and brother, you stay with her and cup her shoulder, hoping that it will comfort her if even just a little bit.

She acknowledges your comfort by reaching her hand back and holding your hand as she continues to watch.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” The king, your father, asks the Kingsguard. “I will have answers.”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, My King,” Ser Harold Westerling says.

“Who had the watch?”

“The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” the gulpable man responds, but that response only infuriated the king.

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!”

“I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” Ser Harold immediately apologizes, but what is that worth now that your brother lost an eye?

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace—”

“That is no answer!” The King cuts off Ser Criston’s excuse.

“It will heal, will it not, maester?” Your mother asks, making you watch the maester's hand continue to work on stitching your squirming brother's gash.

“The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace,” the maester delivers the devastating news that sat on the table but needed to be said out loud. And to that, your mother gasps with devastation and grips your hand tighter, taking an ounce more of comfort before she lets go and makes your hand slide back to your side as she stands up.

“Where were you?” She immediately turns on Aegon with fury, causing you to step back and watch her approach him with anger twisting her face.

“Me?” Aegon asks, confused, before your mother hits him with a sharp slap that makes you gasp softly and turn your face away out of shock.

“Ow!” Aegon reacts. “What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool,” your mother sneers at your brother moments before the doors open to the lord and lady of the castle.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Corlys demands to know as he storms down the flight of stairs with his lady wife trailing behind him, making you shrink back towards the shadows.

“Baela, Rhaena!” Princess Rhaenys calls out as her eyes fall on her granddaughters. “What happened? What happened?”

That’s what you would like to know, too, but no one is keen on sharing anything. Moreover, more doors open again as Rhaenyra and…Daemon join the hall.

“Jace?” Rhaenyra calls out as she rushes in with her hair unlike before. It’s all undone just like her gown. “Luke!”

Your eyes drift to Prince Dameon, slowly making his way inside, and notice that just like Rhaenyra, his hair is unkept and his belt lazily tied.

“Show me. Show me,” you hear Rhaenyra encourage her son.

And once she sees the bloody damage, she turns her head around to demand an answer. “Who did this?”

“They attacked me!” Aemond finally sheds some light on the situation, but then Jacaerys argues in their defense.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!” Your cousin, Rhaena, adds too, causing a cascade of shouts to follow and just make the telling confusing.

You couldn’t even focus on one voice, so you’re left just as confused as before.

Eventually, even your mother interjects, but since she’s close, she’s easy to understand. “It should be my son telling the tale!”

“Silence!” The King shouts, silencing the hall immediately, and making you stiffen.

“Aemond,” your father says as he slowly descends the stairs. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Your mother jumps to your brother's defense before he can respond. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

Yes, you nod softly in agreement. That’s true. It’s obvious. Does he not see it? Does he not see that no one else is missing an eye?

“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra quickly jumps in your son's defense.

“Accident?” Your mother retorts. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.”

Yes, you agree speechlessly.

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!” Rhaenyra argues without knowing the truth. “Vile insults were levied against them.”

Your interest piques, and the King picks on that.

“What insults?” He questions.

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question,” she reveals, making you share a worried glance at your brother as you gulp nervously.

“What?”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys makes it clear to the King, setting a thick tension over the hall that makes you uneasy and nervous for your family.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra adds. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

You look at her with a look of disbelief and annoyance, whilst your brother turns in his chair to also look at her, baffled by her suggestion.

“Over an insult?” Your mother asks shakily and with anger. “My son has lost an eye.”

Yes, exactly.

“You tell me, boy,” the King now interrogates your brother as he approaches his chair and leans towards him. “Where did you hear this lie?”

“The insult was training hard bluster,” your mother jumps in his defense. “The lot of boys. It was nothing.”

“Aemond,” the King ignores your mother. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?” Your mother tries to change the subject. “The boys’ father? Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

“Yes,” the King agrees. “Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace. I…could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

Your eyes narrow to a questioning look before you drop your gaze and recall her walking after Prince Daemon earlier today, and her coming here as unkept as he is. It was no coincidence, was it?

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” your mother quips, and no one interjects to deny it. The tension just grows, and the king continues pressing your brother.

“Aemond. Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

You watch your brother and see his eyes turn to your mother and stay there for a long, eternal moment before he looks back at your father and gives his answer.

“It was Aegon.”

Good…

“Me?” Your older brother asks, betrayed and confused.

“And you, boy?” Your father turns his attention to your older brother now as he makes his way toward him. “Where did you hear such calumnies?”

You start fiddling with your cuticles and feel your body grow stiffer.

When Aegon doesn’t answer in that second your father gave him, he yells. “Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”

“We know, father,” Aegon finally says. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

Your eyes drift to the Velaryon boys, and the features that differentiate appear to be a lot louder now that someone has pointed them out. They’re almost like aliens compared to their own mother.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” The King spats at your older brother before addressing everyone. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another.”

Just like that?

Should it be just like that?

“Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” He bellows and slams his cane against the floor before he starts to limp back to the wooden throne in a silence that grows the tension thicker.

When he walks past your mother, she interjects, but not to break that thick tension. She just makes it worse.

“That is insufficient.”

The king turns around to face your mother with confusion.

“Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my king. Good will cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent,” the king tries to sympathize with her. “But I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken.”

“What would you have me do?”

“There is a debt to be paid,” your mother cries before turning to Rhaenyra with anger. “I shall have one of her son's eye in return.”

Murmurs and gasps spread throughout the hall, and you just start to gnaw on your cuticles.

“My dear wife,” your father says, but she interrupts him.

“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” your father warns her before turning away from her, causing her to try and seek what he can’t give her.

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

You freeze in disbelief and dart your eyes to said man to see if he’ll do what was asked of him.

“Mother!” The boy cries.

“Alicent—”

“He can choose which eye to keep a privilege he did not grant my son,” your mother cuts your father off.

“You will do no such thing,” Rhaenyra warns.

“Stay your hand,” the King demands, enraging your mother.

“No, you are sworn to me!” She exclaims and once again leaves the room, waiting on Ser Criston.

Albeit he doesn’t move. He just clarifies his position. “As your protector, my Queen.”

You look to your mother and see her disappointment in her silence, so you take a step further into the shadows as you feel her wrath.

“Alicent,” your father directs at her with warning. “This matter is finished. Do you understand?”

They share an intense stare before the King turns away, leaving your poor mother with tears in her eyes and anger still burning within her.

“And let it be known,” the King addresses the hall. “Anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

You give your family a nervous look before you focus on your mother in her quiet stillness.

“Thank you, father,” you hear Rhaenyra say sweetly, leaving the hall silent with the thick tension and your mother's fury.

Can no one else feel or see it? The way it burns within her?

Maybe it’s because she is your mother but it’s as bright as any fire, but even so, you’re caught by surprise when she suddenly storms towards your father and slips out his short blade to then storm towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

“Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!” Your father bellows, but nothing stops her fury.

“Hold your approach!”

You approach the pillar that’s right by you and cling onto it with horror as you hear screams and shouts and watch your mother be stopped by Rhaenyra before she can hurt one of the boys.

“Do not, Ser Criston!”

“Alicent!”

“Do not, Ser Criston!”

“Alicent!”

“Stay your hand, Cole!” Ser Westerling demands as he keeps the house guards on guard as Rhaenyra tries to hold your mother back in the middle of an attentive crowd.

“You’ve gone too far,” Rhaenyra tells your mother.

“I?” Your mother cries. “What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please.”

“Alicent!” The king shouts. “Let her go!”

But his demand goes ignored.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” Your mother spats with the blade Rhaenyra keeps holding back with a surprising strength. “It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.”

“Release the blade, Alicent,” your grandsire breaks his silence, but he is also ignored, and your mother keeps expressing the anger she couldn’t hold back.

“And now you take my son's eye, and to even that, you feel entitled.”

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” Rhaenyra spats. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are,” she whispers with tears on her cheeks gleaming against the fire's light, triggering your mother, and causing her to grunt before she’s able to swing the blade down on Rhaenyra’s arm.

In response to the pain, Rhaenyra finally lets go of your mother and falls back toward Lord Corlys in disbelief and silence.

That silence lingers as everyone wonders for a second if what your mother did was true. And it was, she cut Rhaenyra, and the blood falling from her arm proves it and shows the Queen in a new light. A light you didn’t expect to see and don’t fear. Despite the violence and blood she shed, she did it for Aemond, your brother, and it's more than you can say for the King.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” Aemond breaks the silence. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye…but I gained a dragon.”

A dragon?

So that’s what all this is about?

“This proceeding is at an end,” the king says again. Only this time it truly is. No one protests or lunges. It’s over, and there’s finally an answer to what happened and that dream that you had of Aemond.

This is what it was saying. An eye for a dragon, and it came true.

Despite knowing that your dreams were not simply dreams, but cryptic visions of the future, you had never witnessed any of your dreams play out outside of your mind. Not until now.

And now that it’s happened, you start to fear the future more because you know it’s inevitable.

All that you’ve dreamt is coming…

the gym smells like varnish, sweat, and destiny wearing a cheap wig.

inarizaki after practice is a zoo that learned how to jump serve. shoes squeal. someone yells about lost tape. the echo turns everything into a rumor. to you, the whole place is grayscale soup, shadows stacking on shadows, sound doing most of the heavy lifting. people forget colorblindness doesn’t mean blurry. it just means the world decided to be dramatic and took away the highlighters.

you’re clutching your phone like it owes you money.

today is the day. the big day. the day you tell yourself in the mirror, out loud, that you’re not going to die from a confession. your heart, meanwhile, is beating like it’s trying to qualify for nationals without you.

osamu miya is the problem. the solution. the entire syllabus.

you’ve rehearsed. you’ve practiced in the shower. you’ve practiced while walking. you’ve practiced while eating rice and nearly choked because your brain went, what if he laughs. what if he says thanks like a customer. what if he thinks you’re joking. what if—

no. no spiraling. that’s why you’re here. atsumu will help. atsumu always has opinions, even when nobody asked. especially then.

you spot him across the court. same height, same build, same posture that says twin. hair? irrelevant. your eyes offer you two identical silhouettes and say good luck.

you jog over, heart in your throat, brain switching to emergency mode.

“atsumu,” you say, too loud, too urgent, grabbing his sleeve because if you don’t anchor yourself you might float into the ceiling. “i need help. like. now-help.”

the twin looks down at your hand, then your face. there’s a pause. a suspicious pause.

you barrel on before the universe can stop you.

“i need help confessing to osamu.”

silence drops like someone unplugged the gym.

somewhere, a volleyball thumps once and rolls away, abandoned.

the twin in front of you blinks.

once.

twice.

you don’t notice. you’re already pacing in a tight circle, words spilling like you shook a vending machine too hard. “i mean i know it’s dumb, and i know i shouldn’t ask you because you’re his brother and that’s probably illegal in some countries, but i can’t do this alone. my chest feels like there’s a marching band in it. and he’s so— he’s just— he looks at me like i’m something he already decided on, and that’s terrifying, and i keep thinking i should say something casual but then my mouth wants to say something unhinged like please marry me or please never leave, and those are not first-confession words, right?”

you finally stop and look up.

the twin’s mouth is doing something strange. not smiling. not frowning. something feral-adjacent. like a fox just realized the henhouse door is open.

“ya want advice,” he says slowly, voice softer than you expected, “on how to confess. to osamu.”

“yes,” you say, nodding hard. “please. you’re my last hope. don’t tell him i’m asking you this. i will simply pass away.”

another pause.

he lifts your hand off his sleeve very gently. like it matters. like it’s fragile. he doesn’t let go immediately. just adjusts your grip so your fingers are curled around his wrist instead, thumb brushing bone.

“ya sure about this,” he asks.

“yes.”

“real sure.”

“yes!”

“ya can’t tell twins apart today?”

you squint. “i never can. not unless you stand next to each other. you know this.”

he exhales. a laugh tries to escape and gets swallowed whole.

“alright,” he says. “i’ll help.”

relief floods you so hard your knees wobble. you squeeze his wrist without thinking. “thank you. thank you. okay. okay. what do i say. do i compliment him first? is that weird? i like his hands. is it creepy to say i like his hands. they’re just— they look like they know what they’re doing.”

his grip tightens.

“hands’re good,” he says, voice gone rough around the edges. “means ya noticed.”

“i notice everything,” you say miserably. “that’s the problem.”

he tilts his head, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved but wants to admire anyway.

“tell him the truth,” he says. “simple. honest. don’t dress it up too much. he ain’t the type that needs fireworks.”

“but i feel like fireworks,” you whisper.

something dark and pleased flickers across his expression.

“then say that,” he murmurs. “say bein’ around him makes things loud in your chest. say ya chose him. people like bein’ chosen.”

you nod, absorbing it like gospel. “okay. okay. and then what if he says he doesn’t feel the same.”

the gym feels colder.

he steps closer. your toes nearly touch. he smells like soap and sweat and something warm and grounding. food, maybe. comfort.

“he won’t,” he says, too sure.

you laugh weakly. “you don’t know that.”

he leans down so his forehead almost touches yours.

“i do,” he says. “trust me.”

your heart stutters. you swallow.

“okay,” you breathe. “okay. i’m gonna do it. i’ll go find him.”

he doesn’t move.

you look up. “uh. are you gonna—”

“no need,” he says. “he’s right here.”

the words take a second to land. they slide around your brain like marbles.

then click.

your stomach drops through the floor.

slowly, painfully, you look at his face again. really look. the curve of his mouth. the steadiness in his eyes. the way he’s holding you like he already knows where you fit.

“wait,” you say. “wait. you’re—”

“osamu,” he finishes for you, smiling now. “hey.”

the gym comes back in a rush. sound crashes in. blood roars in your ears.

you make a strangled noise that might be a scream trying to become a word.

“i— i thought you were— i’m so sorry— i didn’t—”

he chuckles, low and fond, and cups your cheek before you can combust. his thumb brushes under your eye, grounding, steady.

“it’s alright,” he says. “kinda perfect, actually.”

“i just asked you how to confess to yourself,” you whisper, mortified.

“ya did.”

“that’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“nah,” he says. “most romantic.”

you stare at him.

he waits. patient. like he’s been waiting a long time.

your heart decides to be brave without consulting you.

“okay,” you say, voice shaking but clear. “fine. i’ll continue.”

you take a breath so deep it feels like it scrapes your ribs.

“i like you,” you say. “i like you a lot. being around you feels like my life gets turned up. like everything’s louder and better and scarier. i think about you when i shouldn’t. i choose you even when i don’t mean to. and i’m scared, but i don’t want to be quiet about it anymore.”

the gym is silent again.

osamu’s face goes very still.

then his hands slide to your waist, firm, certain, like there was never another option.

“good,” he says softly. “i was hopin’ ya’d say that.”

you blink. “you were?”

“been hopin’,” he admits. “for a while.”

he leans in, forehead resting against yours, breath warm. “i was already yours. ya just caught up.”

your laugh comes out wet and shaky. “that’s not fair.”

“never said i played fair,” he murmurs.

he kisses you then. slow. careful. like he’s savoring something he cooked himself. the world narrows to the press of his mouth, the way his thumb traces your jaw, the way his other hand anchors you like you might drift away if he lets go.

when he pulls back, your legs feel like suggestions.

“so,” he says, eyes bright. “we’re confessin’, yeah?”

you nod, dazed. “yeah.”

“good.” he brushes his nose against yours. “i’m keepin’ ya.”

there’s something in his tone. something possessive and warm, like a blanket that also locks the door.

you should be nervous.

you just feel safe.

later, when the gym empties and the lights dim, osamu walks you out, fingers laced with yours like it’s obvious. like it’s always been this way. at the door, atsumu squints at you, then at his brother, then groans.

“seriously,” atsumu says. “i leave for five minutes.”

osamu grins and pulls you closer.

“she got the better twin,” he says.

you laugh, leaning into him, grayscale world suddenly feeling very full.

and somewhere deep in his chest, something settles, satisfied, already planning a future where you never have to tell twins apart again because you’ll always know where you belong.

n: now, do not mind that things sound a lil dark, idk what came over me to add some possessive tones in there.

samu’s taglist 1/2

@lsirria @cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @sleepykeijiii @briestrom94 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @asyaacia @rabbitcola @s1lly-bon @miilsa @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @han0vyc @george-russell-defender @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @eri0-0 @fiannee @methiart @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita @griffincorn @poeticsorcery @snowstormsandavalanches @starzlytoetsie @ceramic-raven @nekoffie @littlemissfix-itfic

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

“He's alive?” Otis asked as he walked inside the house, his breath ragged and loud. “He's still alive?” 

Rick hasn't let go of you. He has his arms tightly around you as he rocked the two of you back and forth. You don't know what to feel at the moment, just numb and hollow, but you didn't let go of the guy. 

When Otis walked inside the house, with Shane trailing behind him, Rick pulled away and turned to Shane. 

You looked at them. You watched as Rick wiped his sweat from his forehead, only to stain his skin with Carl's blood. You felt your shoulders sag at the sight, and before you knew it, you were already moving towards the couch. 

You could hear Rick crying again and Shane rushed to comfort his best friend. 

*Okay. I'll take it from you. Where.. Where is he?” Shane mumbled, keeping his voice low and slow, as he reached for the rag that he used to wipe the blood off from Rick's face. “Where is he? Is he okay?” 

You could hear the two of them talking, then the shuffling of feet reached your ears. 

You turned your head to look at them and saw them walking over to the room where Hershel told Rick to lay Carl. You immediately stalk towards them, your hands wiping the blood off on your pants subconsciously— like they have a mind of their own. 

“You know his blood type?” The doctor asked as soon as you walked through the door. 

“A positive.” Rick answered, shaking. “Same as mine.” 

“That's fortunate.” Hershel commented solemnly, looking back over his shoulder to glance at Rick. “Don't wander far. I'm gonna need you.” 

Then, he turned to Otis. “What happened?” 

Otis stammered, his finger pointing nothing in the air as he relived what happened back here, trying his best to say what went down. “I.. I was tracking a buck. Bullet went through it. Went clean through..”

Hershel nodded, looking back down to the wound he's pressing down on. “The deer slowed the bullet down, which certainly saved his life, but it did not go through clean. It broke down to pieces, Otis. If I can get the bullet fragments out.. And I'm counting six, it might take a while.” 

While Hershel was talking, Otis slowly made his way over to Patricia, his legs wobbling from what happened. 

You watched as everyone did their roles, each one of them having a spot inside the room. You knew that this was just a show back then, but now that you're here— standing, breathing, watching as everything follows through the plot.. You couldn't stop yourself from feeling bitter. 

“My wife doesn't know.” Rick spoke up, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes became glossed with tears once more. “My wife doesn't know.” 

You turned away from them, your feet carrying you over to the living room. You plop yourself into the single couch and lean forward, your hands raising to carve your bloodstained fingers through your hair and massaging the spot where you can feel a headache is coming. 

You messed up again. You knew what was going to happen, but you still couldn't stop it. 

You placed your elbows in your knees and buried your face in your hands, not caring if it smelled metallic. Your breathing comes out in short, shaky bursts as you try not to think and blame yourself for what's happening. You could still vividly remember how Carl fell down, his blood pouring out of the bullet wound like waterworks. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

You could hear footsteps coming from Hershel's room, and you didn't have to look up to see who it was. 

Rick and Shane dropped themselves into the couch next to yours, both of them silent for a moment, before Rick spoke up, his voice trembling with regret. 

“Why'd I let him come with us?” He asked, not asking anyone in particular. “I should have sent him with Lori.” 

Grieving people often blame themselves for something they don't have control over. You know this, but hearing it from Rick's mouth— his self deprecating comments.. It left you feeling bad. Just like Rick, you could have told Carl to stay with Lori and convinced the woman that this was a bad idea, but no, you chose to follow through the plot. 

It's a little ironic that you're feeling the same as Rick, as if you were the child's parent. 

Thankfully, Shane knocked him off his horse. 

“You know, you start that, you'll never get that monkey off your back.” The cop stated, spitting nothing, but facts. 

“Li.. Little girl goes missing, you look for her.” Rick mumbled, his voice cracking and ignoring Shane's words, “Simple. You said call it, head back. I was stubborn. And now, Carl got shot because I wouldn't cut bait. It should be me in there.” 

The last statement made Shane chuckle. “You've been there, partner. Right? And you pulled through, so will he.” 

It was silent for a moment, Rick letting what Shane said sink into his brain, but regret is a funny thing. It won't just go away when you know that the reason why it happened in the first place was because someone was stubborn with their decisions. 

Rick is blaming himself hard, because he was stubborn, and you can understand that. 

“Is that why I got out of that hospital— is that why me and (last name) got out of that hospital?” Rick asked, unable to keep a lid on his emotions anymore. “Found my family for it to just end here like this? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

You pulled your hands down, but kept it on your lower face, just enough to look at Rick. 

Why must he bring you up in this conversation? This isn't about him and you. It's about him, his wife, and his freshly shot son— with you being brought up isn't fair. You never wanted for it to end like this. You never wanted to be included with what's happening. 

You stood up, catching Rick's and Shane's attention. You turned in your heels to walk towards the front door, but Maggie rushed out of the room and caused you to halt in your tracks. 

“Rick!” She called for the sheriff, making you pivot on your foot and walk inside Carl's room instead. 

Maggie made space so you can get inside and you sent her a thankful glance for that. The moment you walked inside, your eyes landed on the little boy who was crying in pain, your heart clenching at the sight. 

“He needs blood!” 

You turned to Patricia, holding out your arm as you tried your best to ignore Carl's agonizing cry. 

“I'm a u-universal donor.” You stuttered out, hand shaking as you offered your arm towards the older woman. “I can help and give him blood, too. Get some from Rick, then get some from me—” 

Carl screamed and you couldn't get yourself to continue talking. 

“Stop! You're killing him!” Rick yelled, lunging forward to get close to Hershel, unable to bear to hear his son's cries, but Patricia had a tight grip on his arm. 

“Do you want him to live or not?!” You hissed, stepping in front of him to block his view of Hershel and Carl, pushing him away softly from the doctor, “If you want him to live, then let Hershel do his job! You screaming here isn't helping anyone!” 

“He needs blood!” Patrica repeated, urgency dripping from her voice. 

“Do it now, Rick!” You screamed, forcing him to face Patricia so she can stab the needle through his skin to get the blood she needs to make Carl stay afloat. 

The room grew quiet, because Carl passed out, but Hershel was quick to assure everyone. 

“He just passed out. Anyway, one down..” The doctor stated bluntly, lifting his shrapnel to look at the broken piece of the bullet, then slowly placed it on the metal basin by the bed. “.. Five to go.” 

You let out a sigh at that, but jumped when Patricia patted you in the arm. 

“I’ll get you strapped up.” The woman said, nodding her head to the chair beside where Rick was already sitting down. “Take a seat, okay? Hold on. Let me fetch the needle for you.” 

You nodded and wordlessly settled yourself beside Rick. 

The sheriff stared on the floor for a second, silence stretching between you two, before he turned his head slightly to look at you. 

“You.. You don't have to do this.” Rick muttered, his face pale. “I know you don't like needles.” 

Your eyebrows shot up. You haven't told anyone that you don't like needles. How did he know? Is the (full name) in this world afraid of needles, too? Did she tell Rick about her fear? Pursing your lips, you decided to shake it off and focus on the task at hand. 

“Doesn't matter.” You grunted, holding your arm out when you spotted Patricia walking over to you with the said needle in her hands. “Just need to get this over with. We need Carl to be stable before anything else.” 

You quickly shut your eyes and braced yourself. You don't like the stinging sensation of the needle, nor the sight of it, but you know you have to do this. If you can't change the plot, then you will settle on trying to help fix the damage. 

After taking Rick's blood, you were the next one to settle beside Carl. Patricia had you by the edge of the bed because you're smaller than Rick, so the length of your arm isn't enough to keep you in place. 

“Lori needs to be here.” Rick mumbled, looking at his unconscious son. “She doesn't even know what's going on. I got.. I've to go find her. Bring her back.” 

“You can't do that.” Hershel said, shaking his head. 

“She's his mother.” Rick shot back, flickering his gaze to the old man. “She needs to know what happened. Her son is lying here shot—” 

“And he's going to need more blood.” Hershel interjected, his voice firm and leaving no room for rebuttal. “Both of you can't go no more than 50 feet from this bed. They need to be near just in case the boy wakes up and needs more blood.” 

Your vision swam as your blood flowed from the needle wound in your arm to the blood tank on the floor. You haven't donated much blood before, so this was still a new sensation to you. You wouldn't change your mind and back out though. Carl needs blood, so you'll give him as much blood as you can. 

You watched as Rick and Shane exited the room, closing the door behind them. 

“You're not Rick's wife?” Hershel asked the moment the door closed, making you turn your head to look at him. “You two seem awfully close for you to not be his wife.” 

“I'm his friend.” You answered, thumb pressing on your temple as you leaned forward. “Don't need to be anybody's wife to comfort someone, or anyone. All I have to do is be there for them when they need someone to lean on, make sure they get their shit together.” 

“I could tell.” Hershel mumbled, placing his stethoscope down on the bedside table. “With how you yelled at Rick earlier, I just knew that he's not the only one you're keeping an eye on.” 

“Of course not.” You huffed, a breathy snort escaping your lips. “We got a group up on the highway. Everybody's gotta keep an eye on everybody.” 

Hershel and Patricia slowly shared a look, but both didn't say a word. 

“Got no time to be dilly dallying here.” You uttered, throwing your head back to the backrest of the couch as you let your frustration boil over. “We lost a little girl back there.. We needed to look for her, and we were, then your man shot the boy. I want to look for her still, but how can I do that when Carl's right here, in need of blood?” 

You scoffed, your arm flexing as you closed your hand into a fist. “If I could, I'll split my body into two just so I can look for Sophia right now. I feel like shit for sitting here while she's out there, all alone, with no one by her side to shush her and comfort her.” 

You let out a dry chuckle, heart squeezing painfully. “It fucking sucks that I had to witness everything like how it was on the show. I tried to change it, you know? Tried to chase her down, to get them biters away, but this world is a bitch.” 

You're babbling. You know that it's not good. You're revealing information that should be kept inside you no matter what. You knew deep down that you shouldn't, but to hell with it all. 

You have been keeping things to yourself since you first woke up in that hospital. You have been keeping thoughts to yourself, and not speaking up when it's not necessary to avoid changing the things you know. You have bottled up so many things that it's starting to be difficult to keep things nice and easy for you. 

“I need to slip away from the group at some point.” You mumbled, eyes blinking drowsily as you stared at the ceiling. “But it's hard..” 

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