halfyeared | ( open post )

[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. ]

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