9. At the Precipice of Grief and Glory
"And I know it is over, but still I cling"
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Daenys awoke to a throbbing headache and a face that was on fire. She blearily opened her single eye to see that she was still sprawled out on her mother's bed, although her familiar presence was nowhere to be seen. Gingerly lifting herself a little, she peered around the room and was surprised to see her brother Joffrey curled up on an armchair nearby, curled into a position that had to be uncomfortable. She frowned, sending another bolt of pain through the left half of her face, and she winced. Her features felt stiff as if the maester had stitched them into place the night before.
Shifting herself to sit up and face her brother properly, Daenys said his name. It came out a hoarse whisper but his eyes flew open all the same and he jolted up to stand.
"Daenys!" he exclaimed.
With his brows furrowed and his eyes wide, he looked startlingly like Luke. She had never realized how similar they were, she never had to, but now as she traced the slope of his nose and the curve of his cheek with sorrow, the resemblance was uncanny. At his concern, she yearned to give him a reassuring smile but she could not bring herself to it. She didn't think she had it in her to smile again.
Joffrey stepped closer and reached out his arm before stopping short, his hesitation palpable.
"Everything alright, Joff?"
"You're hurt," the brunette boy whispered, his lower lip trembling, eyes watery. "You're hurt really bad. You must be in so much pain."
"It's not so bad. It doesn't hurt," Daenys lied. It came easy to her, even as her brother looked at her in disbelief. "It doesn't hurt at all, so you don't have to worry about me."
Gingerly, Joffrey settled himself at her bedside, watching her intently as if he could scrutinize the truth out of her. Still, Daenys made no move to alter her statement, instead choosing to stretch out her arms in his direction, prompting him to immediately collapse into her side.
"I thought you weren't going to come home!" Joffrey's voice was thick with misery.
"Why ever would you think that? This is my home."
"No. Grandsire said that King's Landing was your home now that you're married. But..."
He trailed off, unsure of his next statement when he felt her stiffen. He was not so young as to not be aware of the talk that permeated the air of Dragonstone. He was not the naive little boy his older siblings and parents thought of him.
"Mother and Father didn't think you'd come back either," he finally said. "They wouldn't say why, and I thought...that you were gone like Luke."
Oh.
"It does not matter what anyone else says. My home is where you are. My true home is wherever my family is. I will always come back to you, no matter what," Daenys's response was both a reassurance to her brother and a vow to herself.
"You won't leave, will you? Please don't go away again. Everyone is so unhappy here and it's so lonely. Father only ever talks about war and Mother and Rhaena are always so sad. Baela and Jace are away while Aegon and Viserys are too little to understand anything. I have no one."
Daenys pressed three kisses to the side of his forehead, as was their mother's custom when any of them were upset, "I am here now. You have me. You will always have me."
"Will you find Luke?"
Joffrey's words made her blanch, and she squinted at him cautiously.
"I'm not stupid," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "They never said anything about a body. He could still be alive...please...please you have to look for him."
She did not have the heart to tell him that she had already looked. Although perhaps it was an unfair attempt, half dead from blood loss and grief. Perhaps this would be her excuse to continue the search. Suddenly Daenys felt terribly guilty, for if Joffrey could hold on to the hope that Lucerys was still alive, why couldn't she? Try as she might, she could not make herself believe in such a hopeless notion, because when it turned out that he was well and truly dead, she didn't think she had it in her to mourn him all over again.
"How long was I asleep for?" Daenys asked, eager to change the topic of conversation.
"Four days. You had Mother worried. We were all worried. You were really sick, with a fever and everything. Mother thought you might not make it," Joffrey's voice was laced with worry again. "Are you sure you're alright Daenys?"
"Perfectly alright, Joff. Never been better."
Still, that reassuring smile would not come. She was a liar and her brother knew it.
"I was supposed to fetch Mother when you woke up. Do you want me to do that?"
She didn't, not really. Having to face her mother meant having to face what she had done to herself. There would be questions asked no doubt, and answers demanded, none of which Daenys had the patience for. She had a different task to take up, something that had begun to consume her ever since the idea had been born in her head.
Joffrey took her lack of an answer as affirmation and as he hurried off to bring Rhaenyra to her, Daenys closed her eye, tipping her head back to lean against the headboard. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She had to get up, she had things to do, but she couldn't bring herself to stand. Everything hurt too much. Tears of frustration clouded her uninjured eye. She would be useless to her mother like this, a burden even.
She had to find some way to lock it all up, bury her despair someplace deep where it would not come erupting at a moment's notice. If she was to help her mother win back her throne, she had to be a soldier, and soldiers didn't have time to waste on incessant crying. Not when there was a war to win and a brother to avenge. Her mother did not need some snivelling brat who couldn't keep their emotions in check. She needed a sword forged from Valyrian Steel, and so that is what Daenys had to become for her.
It was easier said than done of course. No one had told her how much it would hurt. How was she supposed to be the Queen's sword if she could barely get out of bed?
Daenys's internal reverie was interrupted by her mother's abrupt arrival, prompting her to hastily scrub at her face, earing all remnants of sorrow.
"Oh my sweet girl, you're awake," Rhaenyra sighed, entering the room with a maester in tow. She sat beside her, smoothing her pale strands away from her face to feel her forehead with the back of her hand. "We've been so worried about you."
"I'm perfectly alright, Mother. I swear."
Another lie. Daenys wondered how many more she'd have to tell. If the gods didn't strike her down for her future crimes, perhaps they'd do so for her fibs.
"Your fever has gone down, thank the gods. Tell the maester if you have any pain so he can give you something for it."
Wordlessly Maester Gerardys handed Daenys a concoction, presumably to drink, "Milk of the poppy, princess. Helpful in small doses for the pain, but I would recommend that you practice endurance. Long-term usage is ill-advised as it causes dependency."
An addict. It would make her an addict, is what he meant to say, although too polite to do so in the company of the Queen. Daenys frowned, her disdain for the drink and its effects warring with the creature inside of her that howled in pain every time she so much as blinked. She needed to take it, but she had seen what it had done to her grandsire. The way it had sucked the life from him, leaving him a husk of dilapidation and weariness.
"I do not wish for it to cloud my senses," she mumbled. "If I am disoriented all the time, I cannot be of use."
Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to her forehead, "You need not do anything to be useful dearest. It is enough that you are here."
It was meant to reassure her, but it did little to assuage the bitter feeling in Daenys's stomach. She looked at Maester Gerardys expectantly who sighed, gesturing at her to drink up.
"If it is necessary, I shall give you something else to increase your energy and alertness, although I must insist that you do not make a habit of it. Like I said, dependency can be deadly."
"What is it that you will give her?"
"Ephedra my Queen," the maester bowed. "Just a minuscule amount to stimulate her out of her stupor."
Daenys's fingers trembled slightly as she brought the vial to her lips. With a determined resolve, she threw her head back and swallowed the liquid in one swift motion, though the taste made her cringe inwardly. She resisted the urge to grimace, careful not to show any sign of discomfort in front of her mother and the watchful maester. When he handed her the second vial, she disposed of it in much the same way, repeating the process, though the taste was no less unpleasant.
As she lowered the empty vial, the maester's concerned gaze lingered on her, his brows furrowed in silent assessment. Daenys met his gaze calmly, hoping to reassure him despite her own doubts.
"Does it help, my dear?" Rhaenyra asked anxiously, her voice tinged with concern.
Daenys hesitated for a moment before nodding, knowing that the medicine was unlikely to provide immediate relief, but she couldn't bear to see the worry in her mother's eyes any longer.
"Of course, Mother."
Maester Gerardys raised an eyebrow, regarding her with skepticism from behind the Queen, and Daenys resisted the urge to squirm beneath his watchful gaze.
There was nothing more she could do, nothing at all to dispel the cloud of misery and anxiety that seemed to hang over her mother like a shroud.
As the maester retreated to give them some privacy, Daenys reached out to grasp her mother's hand, offering what little comfort she could, and preparing her for the onslaught of questions. If she asked her questions first then Rhaenyra would not have time to ask hers.
"Where is Daemon?"
"Harrenhal," Rhaenyra replied, her expression sombre. "He left this morning. There are matters to attend to there."
"And Jace and Baela?"
"Still in Winterfell."
"Did you not...do they not know?" Daenys was unable to say the words.
Her mother's mouth twisted into a grimace, her gaze falling to the floor briefly before meeting her daughter's eyes —one whole and one not— once more.
"They're still negotiating with Cregan Stark," she explained, her tone laced with frustration. "Daemon thought it best for them to remain there for the time being. There's... there's not much they could do here anyway, not without a body for a proper funeral."
A wave of nausea washed over her at the mention of a funeral, her stomach churning uneasily.
"But... do they know? Do they know about...him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"They do, but there's nothing they can do for him now," and then as if alarmed by the hardening of Daenys's gaze, she shook her head. "And there's nothing you can do either."
Daenys swallowed hard, the bitter taste of despair filling her mouth. It wasn't true. There was still plenty that she could do for him, although she tried not to dwell on the fact that it would be of no help to him anyway.
"And... what about the Baratheons?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet chamber. She knew it was a sensitive topic, one that had the potential to cause even more pain and uncertainty, but she needed to know.
Rhaenyra's eyes filled with tears, a sorrowful expression crossing her face as she nodded slowly, "Yes, Lord Borros sent a raven. The Hightowers... they've made him an offer he cannot refuse."
The news filled Daenys with a newfound sense of determination. This was her chance, her opportunity to make a difference, a place to channel her grief and her rage. Without pause, she blurted out, "Then may I go to Storm's En-"
"No!" Rhaenyra interrupted her before she could even finish her sentence, sharp and unwavering. "Absolutely not! I will not send another child of mine to be swallowed by that cursed sea. The Baratheons be damned, we do not need them."
"Mother please, just listen-"
"How dare you be cruel enough to even suggest such a thing. Have you not seen me lose enough? Why do you want me to lose you too?"
"You will not lose me. I will return to you. I promise it."
"He promised too. My sweet boy promised that he'd come back home to me, that he would not engage in any fight, that he'd go as a messenger only. Promises like this mean nothing."
"But I have to. Please, I have to."
"Why must you even go? What will that accomplish? What do you hope to do in that gods forsaken place?"
Rhaena chose that exact moment to walk into the room, her eyes widening in relief at the sight of her sister awake and conscious.
Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her arms wrapping protectively around her as she planted a tender kiss on the crown of Rhaena's head. "Thank the gods, you're here," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I feel like I need to have my eyes on all of you."
"Is everything quite alright?" Rhaena inquired hesitantly.
"Rhaena, talk some sense into her," Rhaenyra urged, her voice pleading. "Tell this foolish child she cannot go. Tell her she must not risk her life. Tell her I cannot lose another child, please."
The younger girl looked slightly startled to be thrust into the middle of their argument, but she nodded solemnly, eager to appease the distraught queen.
"Daenys," she began gently, her voice laced with concern. "You're still injured. You need to stay abed and heal before you even think of taking any reckless trips."
Daenys opened her mouth to protest, but Rhaena held up a hand, silencing her. "Please, sister," she begged, her gaze pleading. "Listen to Mother. She's only trying to protect you."
"Where was she thinking of going, anyway?" Rhaena asked Rhaenyra curiously.
"The stupid girl wishes to go back to Storm's End," she replied tersely, her tone tinged with exasperation. "As if she hasn't caused me enough worry already. As if that place has not taken enough from me."
Rhaena froze at the mention of Storm's End, her usually composed demeanour faltering, her hands twisting together anxiously. Her jaw clenched, teeth gritting as she struggled to contain her emotions. She bit her lip, trying to stop them from trembling, but the turmoil within her was evident.
"Why would you go there?" she muttered.
Daenys felt a surge of frustration and grief bubbling up inside her, threatening to spill over. "Because of Luke!" she exploded, her voice cracking with emotion. "I cannot take it anymore. I need to do something... anything, and this is something I know I can do. I will make it so that his journey was not in vain. I need to do this, don't you see?"
Rhaena recoiled as if she had been slapped, her expression stricken with hurt and disbelief. Daenys immediately regretted the harshness in her tone directed at her most gentle sister, her heart aching at the pain she had caused.
People who were hurting sought to spread their pain, and Daenys felt like barbed wire, cutting anyone who got too close. She scarcely recognized herself anymore.
"Rhaena, I..." she began, her voice softening with remorse, but Rhaena held up a hand, silencing her.
"And how will your death make his journey not be in vain? And then I will have lost yet another person," Rhaenyra snapped.
"I will bring you Lord Borros Baratheon's alliance!"
"Are you-" her mother had barely spoken when Daenys interrupted her.
"Or I will bring you his head."
"Are you insane my child?"
She might as well have been.
"No, I am not. That is what my brother set out to do, wasn't it? To bring you his alliance, and they turned him away in the storm, left to fend for himself against the monster who murdered him."
No one moved to point that that said monster was her own husband
"Well, I shall attempt to do the same. And if he does not cooperate, I will bring you his head."
"You cannot go into a man's home and threaten his life!" Rhaenyra exclaimed.
"Yes I can, Mother, and I will."
"If Lord Borros Baratheon dies, there will be no alliance."
"There can be. I am certain the next in line to his seat will be more amenable to our propositions once they see what we are capable of. One way or another I will give you this Mother."
Rhaena watched their interaction silently, but she finally voiced her opinion, something akin to both admiration and apprehension in her eyes, "You really have this all planned out don't you?"
If Daenys was capable of laughter, she would have burst out at the insinuation. She did not have a single thing planned. She was only blathering, without the slightest idea how she would achieve what she sought to do. Her mother was right, one did not just murder a man in his own home, and yet Daenys's voice of reason had gone mute, the vocal chords severed along with her eye. All that was left was this all-consuming urge to do something, anything that would fill the emptiness that yawned within her.
"Don't encourage her, Rhaena," Rhaenyra chastised.
"I need to do this Mother. These lords swore their fealty to you when Grandsire named you heir. Now it is time they fulfilled their vows. We must show them what is done to oath breakers. We cannot allow them to simply toss you aside now that they have found a man to crown. We cannot allow them to forsake you without consequence."
"But to kill them," Rhaena began, "perhaps there is a more peaceful way to go about it."
"The Greens did it too!" Daenys bargained, the image of Lord Caswell's body hanging from the arches flashing in her mind and making her want to throw up. It was unlikely that he had hanged himself, especially since she had always known him to be one of her mother's staunchest supporters. Who knew how many more the Greens had killed in their quest to usurp the throne?
If they were willing to commit horrific crimes, then so was she. Only a monster could defeat another monster, and she was willing to shoulder the burden, stomach her own rot so that her siblings would not have to. She would do it so that their hands remained unstained.
"You know I am right," she continued. "They will keep turning their backs on you, or making outrageous demands unless they are shown what happens to those who have forgotten their oaths."
Rhaenyra massaged her temples, feeling a headache building.
Rhaenyra watched her daughter with a heavy heart, torn between her instinct to protect and her desire for revenge for the children she had lost.
"Daenys, please," she asked again, her voice tinged with desperation. "I cannot bear to lose another child. I cannot bear to lose you. Why must it be you who has to go?"
"I'm not going to die, Mother. I will come back, I swear it. I swear it on your name. But I have to do this. For Luke. For you."
Her mother's grief gave Daenys the strength to finally pull herself out of bed and step towards her. She kept her steps slow and measured, so as to not alert her spectators of her condition. They did not need to know that every step she took sent molten fire through her face and that her nerves alternated between being completely numb and submerged in acid. When she had closed the distance a sufficient amount, she got down on her knees, keeping her eye on her Rhaenyra all the while.
With trembling hands, she took her mother's hands in her own, pressing them gently to her lips in a gesture of reverence and devotion. "Let me be your sword, my Queen Mother," she implored, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging within her. "Let me do what I can to ensure that you are the one who sits on the Iron Throne, as the true heir. I will be whatever you need me to be, just give me your blessing."
"Oh my sweet girl, you always have my blessing. You are my blessing," Rhaenyra bent down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "I just worry for you. I will always worry for you, it is what a mother does."
"I will return. There will be so many more battles to fight, and I must be by your side through them all. I cannot leave. I will not."
"Then will you also promise me that you will at least try to find a peaceful solution first?"
"Mother-"
Rhaenyra shook her head, "I will not make the mistake of sending you as a mere envoy. You may do whatever you see fit as long as it allows you to return safe and unharmed, but I need to know that you will try to be level-headed. I know you, and I trust your judgement."
That might have been true, long ago, during times of peace, but later Rhaenyra would find that one never truly knew another in grief. Her daughter's judgement was not what it once used to be, and the things she would do would horrify her.
Still, she would not stop loving her. You never stopped loving your firstborn, no matter what they did, no matter how little you recognized them.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
As Daenys made her way to her own chambers, she passed by a single closed door. The urge to wrench it open into Luke's chambers tugged at her heartstrings relentlessly, but she resisted, knowing deep down that he wouldn't be there.
She wanted so desperately to see him sitting at his desk penning that letter he never got to send her, or maybe he'd be sprawled out on the floor, pouring over one of the books Maester Gerardys lent him, reciting the passages out loud. She'd trip over his gangly limbs and scold him for it, and in return, he'd trip her again on purpose, and she would never forget the sound of his laughter.
Logic told her that he was gone, but her heart clung to the hope of seeing him once more, alive and well, to absolve her of her guilt. It was over, yet still, she clung, and she did not open that door, putting it off for a little longer.
Finally reaching her own chambers, Daenys pushed open the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what she would find within. But as she stepped inside, she was met with a scene frozen in time, everything exactly as she had left it. It not have been surprising, as she had been away less than a moon, but it felt as though an entire lifetime had passed.
Her bed, neatly made with the same embroidered linens she had cherished since childhood, beckoned to her like an old friend, and the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colourful beams on the walls.
Daenys closed the door behind her, and in the privacy of her solitude, she allowed herself to collapse to the floor. She pressed her forehead to her knees and took deep shuddering breaths. If she was to do this, she would need more of that concoction the maester had given her, addiction be damned. It was beginning to take effect now, taking the edge off just the slightest bit, enough to keep her from passing out.
She spared a brief thought for the journey ahead of her. Going to Storm's End meant seeing Cassandra Baratheon again. It meant possibly having to kill the father of her dearest friend, and no matter how much she had expressed her distaste for said father, no one could forgive that sort of crime.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
A/N: Lol my search history looks hella sus after all the drug research I did for this chapter. Ephedra is the plant from which amphetamines (stimulants) are derived and amphetamines make you more focused and alert, while milk of the poppy is an opiate for pain relief. If there are any medical inaccuracies, ignore them, I'm no doctor lol. Just go with it, she's doomed anyway. Comments are appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts <3
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top