halfyeared | ( open post )

[ 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.]

[She wills herself to keep going, to add to the steely resolve she will one day need. Things still feel raw and in ruins, but she holds onto her pride, because it is the only thing she does currently have other than her wit. That's not particularly serving her in the moment, but this is teaching her something nonetheless.

She does stumble as she reaches the opening into the passage back up into the castle itself. Her hand goes for the wall, but she feels his hand on her elbow and looks up suddenly. There's less anger than even she would like, but she is resigning herself to her current position. She just wishes she felt better about it. She will, somehow, even if she can't see it, but the taste is a little too bitter in his mouth.]

I know. [And it seems that should be the end of what was never meant to be. Rhaenyra knows the alternative. She is already wed now, so it would mean the death of her husband and her father. Both of those see too grave to comprehend. She has lost a mother already. The sadness doesn't dissipate any less.]

I wanted you to know where I stood-- if I had a choice at all. [She doesn't. She knows that. She's known that for a while. But if she had her own agency, she would be his.]

[ His grip is firm enough to keep her stable, but he can still see the weight of her sway. Only fighting her own gravity rather than himself.

Perhaps hearing those words should please him more than it does. What little joy is left in knowing is spoiled. His attention stays focused on the space in between them, jaw twisting lightly under her re-affirmation. As though forcing him to swallow them, reject them. Mind himself for the hours he'd spent letting go of this bitter loss.]

You're drunk. [ Daemon releases her when he speaks. Whatever he might have wanted to say in return, whatever else he might have felt is forcibly ejected. Dismissive, because he must. For the sake of both of them, he must. For giving her anything else entangles it all the more in the wanting he's already resigned to put behind him in the hours before she'd found him down there.

What does she expect him to say more? That he wants her too? Even when he's still not so sure to believe it's even what she really wants. If she knows what she means when she says it. He's can't keep entertaining it anymore and this time takes a step back. ] Words you'll regret on the morrow, I'm sure.

[He steers her from falling completely on her face. Rhaenyra braces her hands forward, one hand out that occasionally skims the wall beside her as they continue on. She knows the way well enough, but she's sure he knows it better. There are probably enough little divots and hidden passageways that she's not even aware of herself. She's explored enough as a child, but he's probably made it his knowledge for more nefarious reasons.

Her eyes flick back up at him, making her sway and then re-adjust. She knows what she says. Is it more honest than she is intending, more emotional even? Yes, but she knows what she says and the weight behind it.]

I know what I say, and I will not regret it, because it is my truth. [She is sure of herself despite how bittersweet it is to admit it. She knows they can't live in some pretend world where it might have worked out-- where he could have taken her to bed and swept her away before her father made the Septon marry them this night. It is foolish to dwell on the 'what ifs', but just as with her father, she would say her truth.

She doesn't particularly care how he receives it or how he shrugs it off. She doesn't push the matter though. It is said, and that is what she means to get off her chest, telling herself it will be easier to move on from him now.]

[ Her truth he thinks is little more than she can reach with her tiny outstretched hand. Truths he wishes not to trample on, although it could be so easily done. It's charming, in a way, her simple affections for him. Her faith in him. In the same stroke, it's not the answer he's seeking.

Where she finds peace in speaking it, he finds himself the opposite. Shirking up his bones as he steps further away from her. Allowing her the space to continue on without him. Whether he thinks she has the capability of finding her way back on her own or not no longer seems to matter. She is home, if she does not find her own way back eventually someone will do it for her. He's quick to shed the responsibility with a scoff. Fleeting. His head shaking more to himself than anything she's said. He needs to sober himself.]

Then I leave you to your truths. [ He disengages, formally. Wading a step or two back to look her over once more. A fitting scene to once again be leaving her from. At least she still has her trousers on. ]

Goodnight, princess. [ Bidding her at least one last goodbye, even though most of it slips under his breath as he propels himself away. He turns on his heel and is gone down the corridor far more swiftly than he'd come. ]

( open post )

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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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