"The blood of Lucerys will be repaid tenfold. A brother for a brother."
In which Daenys Velaryon, the oldest child of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves has committed an unforgivable crime...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
"I love you as a fist loves the broken rib, as the lungs love the chase, as the finger and nail loves the gouge and tear."
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Lost in the realm of dreams, Daenys remained oblivious to the persistent knocking that sounded from her door just after dawn. In her chambers, darkness still reigned supreme, shrouded in heavy, velvet curtains drawn close to guard against the intrusion of even the faintest glimmer of light. The Targaryen princess remained curled up on the floor where she had finally managed to drift off the previous night, and it was only when the door creaked open, breaking the silence with its mournful groan, that she stirred. Slowly she blinked, her eye sticky with sleep and the remnants of her tears as she pried it open, the world around her swimming into focus with each hesitant flutter of her lashes. The room seemed to tilt and sway, shadows dancing in the periphery of her vision as she struggled to orient herself to the waking world.
Standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, was her sworn shield, Ser Atticus, his figure a looming silhouette against the darkness of the corridor beyond. His expression was one of mild concern, his brow furrowed in a silent question as he regarded the scene before him. If he noticed the broken basin, shattered fragments scattered across the floor like pieces of a forgotten puzzle, or the pool of water that spilled forth, he made no mention of it. Instead, his gaze remained fixed upon Daenys, his concern evident in the creases that lined his features.
With a slow, deliberate movement, the princess pushed herself to stand, her muscles protesting against the sudden exertion after hours of disuse. She felt a heaviness settle upon her limbs, a weariness that seemed to seep into her very bones, weighing her down like an anchor dragging her beneath the surface of consciousness.
Discreetly, she cast a furtive glance around the room, searching for any sign of her brother's spectral presence, but the shadows remained silent, devoid of the whispers that had haunted her. In their absence, she felt a brief sense of relief wash over her, followed by a profound renewed feeling of loss.
He wasn't here. She had lost him all over again.
Then, Ser Atticus strode into the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor, he brought with him a sense of vitality that seemed to banish the shadows that clung to the corners of the chamber. With a practiced motion, he reached out to the heavy curtains that veiled the windows, wrenching them open with a flourish to allow a stream of dull, early morning light to flood into the room.
The sudden intrusion of light prompted an involuntary hiss from Daenys, who recoiled from the assault on her senses, her single squinting against the harsh glare, struggling to adjust, and her skin prickled with discomfort at the sudden shift from darkness to light.
