He stood in the great hall, at the foot of the Iron Throne, ALONE but for his beloved cats -- One perched on his shoulder, one at his feet, and one in his arms. They were a comfort, their warmth grounding him to the here and now of what was happening.
The dragon queen was coming. To take back the throne his father had claimed, to avenge the father his uncle had slain. And Tommen knew, much as those around him had tried to shield him, what happened to those caught in the midst of a regime change, who bore the title of royalty.
-- He heard whispers, of Rhaegar’s daughter broken and bleeding, of his son flung against the wall like a broken doll. He heard whispers of the great, deadly dragons that obeyed only her. Was that to be his fate, to be gobbled up by a monster like a naughty child from a song? To be burnt by dragonflame, as they said Princess Elia’s nephew had been?
He tried so hard, to be proud as a stag and brave as a lion, and all that. But he was only a little boy, and felt afraid. When the heavy doors swung open, he shrank back from the entering conquerer, his kittens pressing close and mewling softly, and his soft, child-high voice trembled when he spoke.
❝ ... Have you come to kill me, madam? ❞ // @drakainas