we're both exhausted for different reasons. / daemon to rhea.
rhea has blood running down the side of her mouth.
she suspects it is no more than a cut in her cheek, though the pain of the impact when it'd happen had stung. of course, now, the wound has dulled itself into a faded throbbing. she wonders if there will be a bruise come evening. father have always told her that she has the skin of a fruit : one bump, and the colour will show. one might think it might deter her from being on horseback or drawing upon her bow during a hunt, but it does not. at some point, rhea found herself being even a bit appeased by the bruises she's gathered; by the injuries she might accumulate for the day. it feels, more than anything, as though she's done something worthwhile.
something that could be seen as evident of her productivity, of her ability, her commands and her skills.
now, certainly, she would rather not to bleed at all around her lord husband. rhea has certainly never been wounded around him. she isn't sure if her lord husband may take the opportunity to press into the physical bruises as he might the metaphorical ones. if he would squint upon her and dictate that she is weaker for being bruised at all. he certainly has way with words, her targaryen prince. sometimes, in his company, half of it is spent anticipating what else he might say and how she might parry or dully ignore it. of course, these days, they do not say much. when or if he is here, he mostly spent his days in his side of the runestone keep, and she hers.
speaking of — this is not the keep. in fact, this is some way almost near the valleys of house redfort, where rhea and her small group of envoy had been ambushed, it seems, by opportunistic bandits. or perhaps it was someone from the mountain tribe. there had been no reports of robbery among her men so far as they begin to rummage through their things, which is concerning. perhaps it is best after all that her lord husband had flown in the time that he did. one of the men had succeeded in bearing her down, and she know not her chance would be with a makeshift knife by her throat had caraxes not cast his shadow and cry into the air to alert all of them of their presence.
❛⠀might our reasons swap this time, husband ? ❜
after all, is he not typically the one in fights than her ? rhea could not help from smiling a little. perhaps a bit tickled by her own words.
❛⠀i thank you, ❜ she says next, as one of her men retrieve her bow, and rhea holds it near, almost reverently, to her chest before she lets it rest in her palms. a comforting hold. ❛⠀for having arrived the way you have, even if i suspect you coming here may not be of your will. are you staying this time ? ❜
currently accepting: the great divide.
batting my lashes at @deathmerit
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