halfyeared | ( open post )

[ He'd barely been in King's Landing near half a day before his brother had him thrown back out. It had to be a new record. Impressive, even to himself, but by far not the most impressive thing to happen tonight. Though, 'thrown out' is a loose term. They'd yet to find him yet to drag him out on his feet or knees, but it'd been made clear that he was no longer welcome. Somehow he made it out to be the lesser spectacle of the night. Second, maybe even third ranking? Depending on what wedding guest was asked. It hasn't left him embittered at all.

He'd left the hall on his own terms, slipping under the advantage of the chaos. Rhaenyra's taunts were the only thing rattling around as he'd pushed through the fleeing crowd. Only later he found out who'd been involved. The guards turned him away when he returned. Named specifically by order not to interrupt the ceremony. It's impressive that his brother acted so fast this time. Cutting a week's worth of festivities into half a night.

He knew once he left the Red Keep there would be no coming back. In the dead of night he only had few places to turn to, but none of them felt appetizing. For once in a rare time, he wanted to be home. He wanted to sleep in a bed made for a man of his title. He wanted to dig his heels into the stone out of spite for every time he walked away willingly. Perhaps that was the sign he really should just go. Go and fight for Runestone. Take his losses and be done with the capital. He loved it as much as he hated it and now it seemed there truly was nothing left for him.

This was his home, he'd spent long divulging the secrets behind the walls. He knew where the cellars of wine were kept and even further where no one bothers to keep an eye. Instead of a nice bed, he was sitting in the dirt against a pillar looking up at the candle lit skull of Balerion the Dread. Watching each of the candles burn down one by one unattended. It's not his favorite place, but it's the least bothered. Knowing maybe here at least he can drink and keep his peace. Once again to take leave in the morning.]

Edited (flow edits) 2022-10-21 07:32 (UTC)

[It had happened; the inevitable had happened. Before they could even clean up the Knight of Kisses blood on the hall's floor, Rhaenyra was standing in front of Laenor Valeryon. It was a rush, but something her father would not budge on, the ceremony happening at night with none of the pomp and circumstance that was expected of both their stations. Honestly she tried to push it off. The sounds of Laenor's understandable sobs did not help.

That had been done hours ago, being ushered to their new rooms that had to be hastily put together near a week earlier than expected. There are enough customs in Westerosi culture for weddings, but most of them were forgone that night to no one's surprise. In truth Rhaenyra has no desire when none of it really felt right between the two of them. She tries to comfort her new husband, of course not expecting anything-- even if they get to that part of the night, that is something they would need to discuss when the body of his lover is not so fresh. She does not know what to say, to excuse Criston Cole's actions and why he would do that.

Eventually Rhaenyra decides she needs to take a walk, saying that she needs to go to her old room, making some sort of excuse. From there she knows she can escape through the passage her uncle has shown her. So while Harwin does escort her, silently but still somewhat sadly, she closes the door to her old room, grabs a cloak herself, and heads out to the dank passageway. Part of her says she's looking for him, but she has no way of knowing if he's even in the castle at all or if Viserys was able to throw him out entirely.

She doesn't know how long it's been-- the cool air feeling better on her skin, though the reality of her situation sits no better with her now than it did earlier. In some ways she almost feels more trapped now. It is not the way she imagined her wedding night. She ends up far more down than she was intending, finding herself in the cellars of the Red Keep. She's a little surprised by it, but maybe something in her knew this would be the place to find him if he was going to be anywhere, without directly looking for him.

She comes into the large area, knowing where Balerion rested. It was a place she used to come to as a child. It always mesmerized her to think that her father got to ride on his great back when he was still a prince. As she steps forward, she can see another is drawn to the great beast, and she slowly pulls her hood to reveal who she is. There's a small smile on her lips despite looking so withdrawn, tired, and almost defeated over the course of the night's events. If only he had taken her words to heart, they could have already been on dragonback, far from here even though she knew her words were more taunts than a real plan. Still a girl could dream.

No words need to really be said. It's not a surprise she somehow found him here and now. Part of her is happy to see him though, even if she's not entirely sure what to say or what to do now. The last time she saw him alone plays in her mind. This is not how she expected to see him again either. It was inevitable though. She would marry, though he no longer had the excuse of his wife. Rhaenyra could have been his this night, but she's not in a mood to gloat. Instead her hands are behind her back.]

[ He hears her before he sees her. Too light of steps to be any guard roaming on duty. He thinks at first a servant, maybe. One who might keep word to themselves or spread it around. Like rats, they'll travel and maybe then his hours will be numbered. It does nothing to change his demeanor, staking his presence in the room that cannot be moved any easier than it would for them to drag that skull even an inch off its pedestal.

When she steps into view he realizes he was wrong. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, at this point he is still not certain. He hadn't expected to see her again tonight. His boots shift under the grit in their silence. His knees are drawn high enough so that his arms can rest on them, the bottle of wine he'd plucked held in his lap between his legs. Picking off bits and pieces of the wax cap that have turned into a small pile of shavings on the floor.

In the silence he mirrors a smile to hers. Both tired and defeated, only his twists into something more embittered once he looks away. Down at the bottle in his hands be raises it to drink from. It refreshes the warmth in his veins. As the cold of the night sinks in, he clearly hadn't gone anywhere else since leaving the great hall. Only having unfastened the top portion of his leather surcoat so that his neck may breathe. ]

All considering, not the worst wedding in more recent history. I still think that one goes to Alys Oakheart. [ He's the first to break the silence, his head lulling back against the stone as he looks at her. Far less violence and treachery. So it's not the worst, but certainly not the best. Leagues far from what'd either of them wanted by the way she looks at him now. But these are circumstances that are now out of both of their hands. ]

[Her wandering has been rather aimless, but she seems to find her destination nonetheless. She would be happier to see him if she did not feel so empty at the moment. He’s found the wine while she’s been married off. She takes in his manner, and it feels as if he has lost something as much as she has, despite the fact that he is not the one who has been married off.

His words do not get the reaction he is expecting as she finally decides to sit beside him. Crossing her legs, she manages to get down on the dirt floor before managing a scoff right as her head leans on his arm.]

Please do not make light of it, Uncle. [For her sake and what had happened to Alta Oakheart. It has been bad enough for herself, but she cannot fathom the fate of the other woman. Her own tone isn’t too chastising though, just hurt and disappointed in what has come to be now.]

[ The response speaks enough and he says no more. Nor does he shift to make room or comfort for her, though she does seem to find it. He pauses to look at her from the corner of his eye before lowering his knee beside her to present the bottle atop his thigh. It's hers for the taking. He can only imagine that she might need to ease herself after such an eventful night. ]

I take it your new lord husband was not up to his duties. [ Daemon remarks instead. The tone of his voice shifts and settles, sounding more sincere than the last. As it is by no means any sort of jape or currish remark. There is far less an interest in any bedding or lack thereof, that he already knew the answers to. More a remark to why she was down here with him at such an hour into the night. ]

[She sees the offered bottle of wine and pulls it from his lap. Tonight she certainly needs it. Picking herself up from leaning on him, she moves to hold it before taking a long drag from it, like perchance she can make sense of this night if it is at the bottom. Maybe not though. Likely she might just be able to fall asleep without feeling nearly as hopeless, stuck in this situation now.

She knows ultimately of any of her suitors, she had found some sort of way to cope, to find some sort of happiness, but now Ser Criston has dashed it, and she has no answers as to why. Likely he would not tell her either. He did not seem to like the arrangement she had made with her now husband, but surely that is not a reason to murder his lover in cold blood. It just leads to more questions the more she thinks on it.]

He needed time to himself. [To grieve. Rhaenyra neither needs to explain that nor will out her husband, regardless what the rumors may say and that Daemon himself likely already knows. She does have respect for Laenor, and she will do what she must to at least make this marriage appear as if it is working. She has no choice there. Appearances are everything now.

But that does not help her circumstances now. It just confirms his assumption as to why she is alone and wandering the cellars at night. It could not have been at all the hopes of finding him.]

[ A confirmation he only hums in response to. Laenor's proclivities weren't unknown to him and would assume anyone who wasn't deaf, dumb, or blind could see it. They'd also shared a battlefield only until very recently, a place where it was even harder to keep secrets. A further reckon that after tonight, it'd only added more conspiracy to their union.

The silence sinks in once more and he does not rush to try to fill it. The two of them passing a bottle in silence and not a soul's way of knowing what the other might be thinking.

Every time his mind tries to wrap around what he's doing feels like trying to secure a slippery knot in a wild storm. He'd left her in a state, ambition on the mind to perhaps to fulfill a fever dream half-cooked but achievable. But his brother had outsmarted him this time and the nettles are still sting deep in his bones. Daemon's fingers continue to fidget and scratch into the softness of his palm still sat atop his bent knee. Knowing how well Viserys is probably sleeping well tonight.

Even with her there now, shoulder to shoulder, she feels lengths away than when she did when he saw her this evening. Knowing he should have taken her there on the razor's edge when he still had his chance. It probably wouldn't have worked, he knows that. But at least he wouldn't be here ruminating endlessly what could have gone differently.

Pulling from his thoughts turns his chin in slightly to look over at her. There's plenty that either of them could say, certainly more than either of them seem to want to. He doesn't know where to start nor does he really seem to want to try, but the silence may be slowly killing him.]

[The silence falls between them, and it's almost suffocating. Even as they pass the bottle between them. She searches for something to say, but everything rolls back into what should have been and where they now stand. It doesn't sit well, but she doesn't know how to fix it or change it. It just simply is now.

Rhaenyra takes a small drink before handing him the wine again, the liquid dark, but not quite hitting her, yet. She sighs after a moment of watching him, feeling just how distant he is despite being so close to him. It feels like he's never been farther, especially when there seems like nothing can be said.

But she needs to. Because the silence is too stifling.] Where did you find the wine?

[Her hand just brushes his when she passes it back, causing her to inhale sharply. With a question like that she was attempting to steer away, as if they have ever been the type to keep to small talk like it was so simple. She is not sure what it is now with him or what it could be.]

[ If anything, it sounds as though the tempestuous silence only got to her before it to him. His eyebrow raises in slight as he withdraws the bottle. At first steading it back onto his thigh to fix his grip on it but does not drink immediately. ]

Lord Beesbury. [ He sighs, tipping the head back against the pillar to rest his eyes a moment. Unlike her, he'd spent far more time working down the bottle. Long enough to feel it tempering him and the tingle in his cheeks. Far from any sort of drunkenness. He should have opted for something stronger. Though considering her size, he'd reckon the warmth will creep up on her slow soon enough. ] He's always been picky with his wine. Ships a crate in once a fortnight.

[ Even has he talks he sounds fed up with his own answer. Filling up the last of his words by bringing the bottle back to his mouth. Small talk did not suit them. They were too alike, too above it all to play that kind of complacency of court. At least not for long. It's almost insulting now, after everything. Which is why when he sets the bottle down atop her leg, he simply cannot help himself from saying something.]

You could have done worse. [ A blisteringly obtuse statement coming from him. As though he hadn't just started shit in the middle of her wedding feast by saying she hadn't picked one good enough, but whenever has he been consistent? ]

[She hums her response about the wine. No, this doesn't feel right at all. It's too surface level for them, too ordinary when the two of them are anything but. Rhaenyra had to say something to end the blistering silence between them. It was not the right thing at all, but when he passes the bottle back to her, there's a bit of warmth on her cheeks. Huddling her cloak around her shoulders, she takes another drink.

His response gets a look from her, one that says she's disbelieving of his statement. He had just said the opposite before, but then he still had the chance to change it. They thought they had days. She thought she might have been able to make a plan when she saw him there. Why else would he have come? He was already thrown from the castle once, risking the ire of her father, the King.

She can't help the small scoff though, because she tried so hard to come out on top in this.] I thought we had it all figured out. That both of us could be happy. Now look at us.

[Her lord husband is in his room, grieving, and she is sitting with her uncle in the cellars, drinking wine. What a couple they make. She sighs again, passing the bottle back to his lap a little more lazily this time.]

[ It's a consolation if anything, only because he's too stubborn to acknowledge his own failures. It's obvious why he'd come, crashing into her hastily conjured wedding festivities. Fresh off the death of his first wife. Taken barely enough time to peel the stench of dragon off of him before he announced himself through the doors of the great hall. He'd meant to grieve those failures in peace, but now he was stuck forced to grieve hers as well.]

Ao tepagon bē tolī adere. Mirrī ānogar se nykeā orvorta hen nykeā azantys iksos daorun. [ He can't help but sound a little annoyed, catching the neck of the bottle before she tips it into his lap. Annoyed for having to consult her on affairs he honestly doesn't care for. Annoyed that she sounds so easily defeated the first time something has blown up in her face. All but telling her to toughen up. Life is hard. Learn to thrive.

He looks over at her now, though unable to adequately study what kind of state she's in. He instead turns his head back and lifts the bottle up to his eyeline to measure the amount left from what'd been shared between them. If she keeps going at this rate, he'll have to carry her back to her room. After taking another drink, he places it a measure away to keep her from reaching for it again. ]

[He's already taught her how to bare down when sorrow feels all consuming. In some ways this is not much different. She doesn't have a dragon to bark 'Dracarys' at this time though, to burn the thing she loved the most. There is no destruction, not literally this time. Instead her jaw tightens as she turns to look at him, not surprised he's not letting her have a pity party. She doesn't give any emotion away, just hardening because it is all she can do right now.]

Nyke pendagon issa valzȳrys jāhor emagon vestretan lodaor. [Her response is hard, but not as snappy as she would have made it. The drink starts to affect her a little more. Her temperament does not have quite the bite to it now. His annoyance would irk her far more if she were sober, but she can feel the creeping warmth, the way things feel not as dire, but still edging on emotional.]

Nyke gaomagon daor tepagon bē. Yn nyke gīmigon gīda aōha dīnilūks bantis istan sȳrkta bisa.

[Plus she has the matters of Cole to contend with, not even knowing of his betrayal, yet, that Alicent has snatched him, and he has confessed his perceived sins. It is a sting she is not even aware of, but enough of the pieces are in front of her that she assumes he is at least no longer her lover. So in some ways there is that loss as well. She did like him after all. He had been a companion for years, someone she has confided in.

She sighs, closing her eyes for the moment, realizing a little how the world turns without her moving. She knows it is not hopeless, but she just wants to take the moment to let the heaviness sit on her shoulders. She wants to have this moment before knowing that she will still not succumb to this societal rule of women being brood mares for their husbands. They cannot change Laenor, nor does she want to herself. Their agreement still stands even if in one moment both of their plans were taken away from them.

Her eyes open again, still looking the same, but figuring no matter what, she still can have the upperhand. It is simply not what she wanted ultimately.]

Iksā iēdrosa kesīr.

[A small comfort. He could have left. He shouldn't even have been there by all rights, but he most certainly should have left by now. What else was keeping him aside from her? He was licking his wounds alone before she found him, but now she turns a little lazily to blink up at him. A silent 'why' on her tongue, but not spoken.]

Edited 2022-10-22 19:14 (UTC)

[ The only grace he can give her is silence. His gaze kept forward on flickering candles while she carries on. Not by comforting her sorrow or judging her for it. He isn't quick to agree about his own wedding but it had been long ago and certainly less volatile of circumstances. Though the mention of it brings a sneer to his lips. It's not fair to compare them all, but at that point he's only forsaking petulance for more petulance.

His attention only stirs away again when he can hear her turn and shift out of the corner of his eye. Meeting her gaze and holding it in the absence of any answer there could be to give. The cool stone they've both slumped against leaves a sobering touch as his temple rests against it. She looks flushed, tired, and a little pitiful. Expecting him now to explain himself when in many instances of nights like this he would easily disappear.

Instead of answer, his jaw fixes itself before he looks away again. Back up at the looming skull and rows of sharp teeth. Seemingly neither willing to tell her why he chose here of all places or even acknowledge that he stayed this time. Only because this time he's no longer certain when the next time he'll be back. If he'll ever want to come back.

They've already played that game, he doesn't have any interest in repeating a dance of goodbyes. If he were, he would have tried to find her and steal her away from her marital bed. His chest flutters with a joyless chuckle as he drags the bottle back up from the ground to take another drink.] Nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon zȳhon dārōñe se rigle va skori nyke henujagon.

[She still keeps her eyes on him even as he looks up at Balerion's skull. She knows the size, standing before it plenty of times as she thought of her own dragon's size. She knows the might, though never saw it personally. Watching Daemon proves more interesting anyway. He is living in front of her, perhaps just as imposing, she has heard.

His excuse sounds both like him and very much like an excuse. Her brows rise a little. She may have called him out should she have been more sober, but instead she posits a question instead.]

Did you mean to see me again, Uncle? [She does not mean for the goodbyes they have already exchanged, not expecting to see him at all at her wedding period, but perhaps she is asking after something more personal.]

[ It's an excuse that's not far from the truth, but it is much more buried underneath it. Bones she might never unearth from him despite her willing. Reasons he cannot rightfully justify, even in his current state. The wine sours in his mouth as her next question follows. He lets the heady taste sink under his tongue and prickle at his cheeks before slowly swallowing it. Was it just only for her? Was it not about her at all? Even he's not entirely sure of that difference. ]

No. [ The admission feels a bit dead in the air. Now looking at the dirt at his feet feeling almost sobered as he still does miserable. Were he actually more sober, might he have actually tried a bit harder to not seem to care.

However with all that's been said and done with the night, it's the one thing he can honestly say. Even if it might hurt her to say it. ]

[The answer is not the one she wants to hear. Of course he isn't going to lie to her, but she does not like it any more just because he's being honest. Her eyes narrow, looking almost indignant back at him. The wine does not hide her emotions either even if she's not moved to reach farther for the casket of wine. It's not worth the effort, and she's already at the point of feeling good.

Only his answers and his mere presence does not make her feel good. Her lips press together in a thin line.] I should go. [Not that her lord husband is likely to be looking for her, wedding night or not.

He's made it clear. He's not here for her, and she just needs to get on with it. So she will. She moves to push herself off the floor a bit more sudden than her own body is possibly ready for. She gets about halfway up when her head swims just a little more than she's expecting, and she careens more to the side, almost pulling on him to steady herself and not end up completely in his lap or worse, the hard, dirt floor.]

[ It's for the best, he thinks. It makes it easier on the both of them if the cut is clean and not left to fester like an open wound. Perhaps he should have left the moment the guard had turned him away, perhaps he should have never tried to come at all. The pieces were set into motion as soon as she'd set sail for Driftmark. As soon as word had gotten back from their dalliances in a brothel. He'd tried what could not matter and now they both must cut their losses.

For as well the wine has broken him down, Daemon is quick to lurch forward to steady her before she falls. The bottle tipping over somewhere in the process, but it's loss is nothing of consequence. He'd already lost his appetite for it.

For as dedicated as he'd been to remain aloof to the turn of their circumstances, it shows none now. Equally disarmed in the moment as he holds her upright, not even a full arm's length away. She may want to leave on her own terms, though by his assessment it seems she might not be able to. ] Rhaenyra? [ He asks, voice quiet and with nothing but concern. If it's help she needs, she'll receive it. ]

[She almost expects to still land on the ground. The way she lost her footing or maybe it was just the way her world surged a little unexpectedly. His hands are on her though, and she blinks before trying to stand on her own, push him off. She can have her dignity at least, something she tries for. Her footing is no more stronger now.

It doesn't matter when he calls; his tone is softer now.] 'M fine. [She's not, and she has to lean on him to even stand straight up. Her eyes go wide as if she somehow makes them bigger she can control the gravity of her steps, make the world somehow straighter from how cockeyed it all feels. She drank more than she should, quicker than she should.

Her hand grabs a hold of her shoulder as she tries to stand on her own again. This was not a good idea, and suddenly she's regretting it all. She tries to will herself like she can push forward and change her own metabolism or something similar. Like pure will can change anything. She must try though.]

[ She is not fine, but he lets her move on her own terms. Releasing her when she pulls away but following back up with just one at her other arm as she tries to rise a second time. It's not his place to belittle her, he's the one who fed her the bottle even if she was not the one to monitor it.

When it seems she still cannot even manage it, he lets out an exasperated sigh. What little hold he does have left on her is ushered for her to place her weight on the pillar so that he may have room to get his feet underneath him. Rising up, he can feel the own tumultuous lull sink into every bit of his bones. He steadies his own hand against the stone next to her. Only the tips of his fingers to steady him. He may not be as drunk as she is, but the room certainly topples under the rush of his rising.]

Rhaenyra [ He speaks again with a bit more conviction, a bit pleading. As if just saying her name again might call her to reason that she's being ridiculous by refusing him. His hand reached out between them again in waiting but knowing it's likely to get shoved away. ]

[She manages to hold onto the pillar, trying to just breathe in. It steadies her where she stands, and she tries to not look at him when he needs similar support, but is faring better than she is currently. That does not mean she's going to give up though.

What does his help matter now? It's too little too late. He's started this, and now she's here, and she tells herself she needs to do this on her own. Her jaw grits when he pleads. She hears it, and her eyes narrow again to look up at him.]

Skoros sȳz jāhor aōha dohaeragon gaomagon sir? [The cut to her tongue is not as sharp as she would like, more tired and disappointed, but the stubbornness is still in her eyes. She stands straighter then, as straight as she can feasibly without toppling over.]

Nyke līs glaesagon mijegon ao sir, drēje?

[She feels no better saying it, keeping her voice from breaking but only just.]

[ They're not words undeserved. His eyes close either to brace himself for her or to reset the room from its gentle spin. For as much grace as he's giving her, it's also equally testing his patience. One whittled down and grinding to the bone over the course of a night.

What she says drags everything back into the air. The way he looks at her almost makes it feel unfair. Causing him to drop his hand at his side with a fed up flop against his thigh.]

Jikagon va pār. [ He relents with a soft shake of his head.] Geron aōla arlī naejot tistālion. Ziry mazverdagon daor arlinnon naejot nyke lo ao ropagon se pryjagon aōha gevie laehurlion. [ She wants him to continue to pretend not to care? He can do that. But it doesn't sound as convincing as he might have been able to make it. He sounds more resigned than he is annoyed, his hand barely making a gracious sweep back towards the way she came.]

Edited 2022-10-23 02:17 (UTC)

What does it matter? [Her voice is flat when she says it, almost void of emotion again. There's anger bubbling over. Nothing she does is right. She tries, she is honest, she appeals to his sensibilities, and they end up right in this moment. It's exhausting and infuriating. How can she accept his help now? Whatever he may be giving.]

Why would you care? For when I stand, you will not be here anymore anyway. [Metaphorically, she's speaking. Because this argument is not just about her ability to walk despite being drunk, but the fact that they have already said their goodbyes. His intent is to leave her again. How many times can she take him abandoning her here?

That is what she is raging against. Because she feels like she's fighting against a realm who does not want her, a former friend at her throat, and the person who has her back is the same person who put her in this mess. It almost seems hypocritical of Viserys to do so, but he talks of duty and what she must do, what she's already done now as of this night. It's Daemon who shows her her own capabilities and potential, but just as maddening, he is not a constant in her life.

She wants to break the mold as the first Queen. Why does being a woman preclude so much? Why are they still existing in these limitations? She refuses it. She refuses it as much as she refuses his hand and attempts to make for the passageway from where she came. Her steps are staggering at best. There is no way she is walking a straight line and makes it as far as the pillar behind them before she's holding on for dear life, like she may actually puke on the spot.]

[ He gives her space because she demands it. His eyebrows raised at her short, but visceral outburst. Without a word taking a step out of her way to let her go. Watching her move like she's wading thigh deep through water. Letting her struggle in silence until the loud slap of her hand as it hits the next pillar before she's loses the fight once again. A true testament of her wills when pushed, but dragged down by the capabilities of her physiology. Daemon finds himself simply watching and waiting which one will win out first. After all, she's in no true danger from anyone or anything but herself.

He only spends a moment to gather himself before making his way along the other side of the pillar with general ease. Progressing further down to the next and to lean against it to watch her progression forward. It's certainly not what he'd intended of the night, and perhaps under better circumstances he might actually enjoy the absurdity of watching his niece stumbling around blisteringly drunk. As long as she were mad at anything else but him, but he supposes these were not the fates either had been dealt with tonight. ]

Tell me, niece. What exactly do you expect me to do at this point? [ He asks, still at half the energy she might be giving him but not entirely absent of ire. He's not yet raised his voice. Knowing entirely how unfair it is of him to ask while she's doubled over and on the verge of tears. From where he sees it, there isn't anything he could do to change things. The only reason he stays longer than he's minded is out of pure spite but even he is smart enough to know that doesn't grant him impunity. It doesn't mean he doesn't care nor doesn't want to stay, but that is all she seems to think. ]

[The cold pillar against her cheek is just jarring enough to her senses. It does not sober her, but gives her a small sense of clarity. She swallows hard, not allowing her body to give up so easily. She should not have drank as much. Still in control of her mindset, she's drunk enough that it's a little harder to control her movements. She was hoping the night wouldn't end up in this spot, but after entirely avoiding the conversation at hand, is it truly a surprise?

It is not that she thinks he does not care, but she doesn't understand why he does if he seems content with the outcome. What has been the point of it all? It's hard to think much beyond herself in this moment, but then the day's events have entirely shaped her future now unless she acts.

So Rhaenyra picks her head up when he speaks, still just as frustrated with the situation more so than at him directly. It is just very easy to point her ire at him since he's started this to begin with.] I do not know. I will find my way, because I must, but it seems like every answer I give you has only led to this exact moment. And you will leave, because you must. And I will contend with this life, because I must.

[The fire is not wholly out of her, but she sighs nonetheless, picking her head up and attempting to walk toward him. It is once again not entirely straight, but she can veer herself with hardened determination.] I wanted you, you know.

[ It's an answer that comes as no surprise to him, if any answer at all could be provided. At least it's not some halfcocked political plan to overthrow an engagement. It's clear that the both of them have resigned to their positions, all the less happier for them. As well as she is learning to put each foot forward there in that cellar, she's learning what losses she must also settle for. Where in a time before he might think to saddle her with some hope or promises of something better, he is in no better position than she. Even if he currently holds the most freedom between the two, this is not any more what he wants than what she does.

He doesn't look ready to move towards her in case she fumbles. Knowing she is more than willing and capable to continue carrying on herself or fall with her pride. It does not mean he isn't immediately there to take her by the underside of her elbow, steading her upright at the moment she looks ready to tip. Not there to provide anything more than a buoy from hitting the ground or going astray.

Where her answer falls, he cannot immediately answer. For all it means for her to say, knowing it would have done nothing. It serves them nothing to speak of it now. To speak of a match that would never be unless at this point convinced only after his brother's dying breath. A thought he likes even less, for all it's worth. The pain and the trouble.]

He would never let me have you. [ He says after a beat. A consolation of it all, if she was looking for it. Though his utterance sounds nearly grave. He not trying to spurn her against her father any more than he's trying to keep her favor. It serves neither of them to know it in the grand scheme of things. What inkling there was. It's truth. Plain, simple and cold.]

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me, somehow surprised, that there was actually a translation for the word cunt in valyrian

me, not surprised xD

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