the thing about dragons

chapter five (III)

in which there's cats and blood.

part III

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warnings: war, blood, bad life decision, Otto Hightower, Daemon Targaryen, murder, menstrual cycle

***

"Did you read it, Otto?" Viserys asks, almost vibrating with excitement.

"Yes, I did," Otto says, even though it feels like he has to force it past a bile in his throat.

The Velaryons—with Daemon's aid—have managed to secure an alliance with Dorne. Potentially, the first real step towards allying with Dorne since the Conquest.

And it was done by Daemon and Corlys.

Otto tries to be politely happy about it, but inside he seethes. Daemon expanding his influence is never anything good, and this was never meant to happen. This shouldn't have happened.

But Corlys Velaryon is a man brilliant enough to counter even Daemon's wild tendencies. But Corlys Velaryon is a creature built from pride that not even his greed can match. It never has.

What changed?

○

Lyra turns thirteen. Daemon throws her a nice little party, brings a shipment of all kinds of things. Even Corlys splurges a little, which admittedly is rare. It's because she pressed for the trade alliance with Dorne, he tells her, because it's already started paying off. Predictably, he doesn't like how smug it makes her.

Qoren visits from Dorne, brings some gifts. He stays for a polite amount of time and then drags Laenor off somewhere more private with a basket of food in hand, and that's the last Lyra sees them that evening.

It's fun, in the tents, with her father and a disgruntled Corlys, unpacking gifts others have sent her from wherever they are. With the knights and soldiers that she made friends with. There's a lot of potato dishes, courtesy of the very same cook who saw her make the potato stew that first time.

Lyra tries to have fun. She really does.

But she can feel a familiar-odd kind of sensation at the bit of her stomach that she knows, and really, truly does not like.

○

She wakes up, just like she predicted, to nausea, fatigue, general discomfort, and a patch of blood between her legs. It's still dark outside, and Daemon is snoring sprawled on the bed not too far from her. She takes a moment to curse her body, tries to stop herself from throwing something at someone, springs from the bed without a word and goes to find an adult woman, barely bothering to grab a jacket and shoes. People, whoever is up at this our anyway, step out of her way with concern and mild shock; her disgruntlement must be showing on her face, no doubt.

She finds some women in the kitchen tent, going about meal prep. She clears her throat.

"I'm sorry, my lady," one of them says, "the breakfast isn't ready yet—"

"I'm bleeding."

"It's—Oh. Oh! Yes, um, Tilda, manage for now, I'll go help her ladyship a bit."

She mostly just needed to figure out a replacement for pads and tampons. Soon, she's going to have to stalk around for herbal remedies for pain, but for that her best bet would be a midwife.

The woman—Yvonne—is very helpful. Gives her a linen cloth, tells her how to use it, gives some tips and tricks. Lyra is very grateful, if curt, but Yvonne says nothing, just sends her off on her way and returns to the meal prep.