She is Daemon's daughter but she wants nothing from him, rides a dragon and doesn't shy away from a fight. She also hides a dangerous secret and has her own reasons for coming to King's Landing.
Aemond wonders if he can tame her.
✧...
author's note: when I said that a lot of people would die... I totally meant this part!
warnings: angst, violence (mentions of blood and injuries, brief mentions of torture), multiple deaths.
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Lia almost gets carried away by her impulsiveness — but then comes a touch of a hand, so tenuous she could easily dismiss it if it wasn't followed by a voice:
"Let me have a look at your shoulder."
She didn't see her mother getting off the chair, didn't notice her come closer. She completely forgot she wasn't alone in the house like she got used to. Sharing the same space for them was rare, sharing a conversation — even more so.
"It looks worse than it feels," Lia tries shaking her hand off — she immediately feels the grip of pain instead, so harsh she can't hold back a groan.
"Sit," her mother requests, "I will help you to—"
"I need to go," Lia cuts her off, hiding the pain behind her usual sangfroid, the skill she practiced the most.
Her mother has never found it praiseworthy. "And what is the rush?" she insists, if a bit plaintively.
"I want to make sure they don't harm anyone," Lia says, already knowing that the reply won't be to her mother's liking.
She hears a deep sigh. Her mother's best skill is the ability to voice her disapproval without actually speaking. Lia takes a peek at her and thinks that for two people who look so similar, they couldn't have been more different. She got her mother's face, she's been told plenty. She has the same hair, the same lean build, both of them accidentally gracious yet fast-paced. But all the external features they shared could never make up for the lack of any bonds between them — apart from kinship, which didn't come with a gift of understanding nor granted a willingness to understand.
"What if they do?" her mother wonders, "How can you possibly fight any of those grown men?"
And it hurts more than any physical wound — having a mother who underestimates you so often, so sincerely. That was way harder to get accustomed to. Growing up, Lia rebelled against the very necessity of her mother's love, quashed the childish yearning for her approval. She believed that her every little victory was possible not because of her mother but in spite of. Even though she never stayed long enough to see any of Lia's achievements.
"I can defend myself," Lia argues through gritted teeth.
Before her mother can come up with an objection, she pulls out the dagger that was strapped to her side. The metal glims hungrily, and Lia twists it with cool satisfaction. Her mother doesn't find it exciting.
"I didn't raise you to be so cruel!" she exclaims, her tone tinted with disapproval.
Lia thought it would get easier with time but it stung just the same. There she is, the woman who carried her under her heart once, gave birth to her, fed her, and stayed with her in the first years of her life that Lia couldn't remember. The woman whose blood she won't ever be able to wash out of her body. And yet, Lia only sees a stranger.
