#waveswallowed

[infamescoronam]

❓are you happy?

Send my muse "❓+" alongside harsh hitting questions, scenarios, anything question-related really, but they can only answer with "yes" or "no". Nothing more, nothing less.

a quiet exhale is the only suggestion he's heard the question, fingers twitching towards his goblet only to belatedly realise it's already empty, along with the bottle upon the table. there are moments of happiness, that much he won't deny, but if he struggles to grasp those moments without the aid of a level of inebriation that ends with him passed out in his bed with no recollection of at least the last few hours of the night, he's not so sure it can count. even then, joy can quickly descend into misery between one drink and the next. he'd found a true happiness through his son, of a kind that had come as a surprise to him but that had been short–lived, stolen away as quickly as he had discovered it.

"no." moments of snatched joy, like ventures to the dragon pit to sunfyre, didn't equate to being happy, no matter how greatly he might desire to give the opposite answer, to lie through his teeth and claim he has all he ever wanted.

[infamescoronam]

❓is all this really what you would have wanted for yourself?

Send my muse "❓+" alongside harsh hitting questions, scenarios, anything question-related really, but they can only answer with "yes" or "no". Nothing more, nothing less.

"no." he doesn't need to hear the end of the question before the answer springs forth, perhaps too readily. he didn't covet his half—sister's crown, had never once considered it a true possibility that viserys would one day decide to renounce her as his heir and replace her with aegon. even in childhood he had recognised the love the king held for his daughter was withheld from the rest, save maybe helaena. he did not feature in the conversations leading up to, and following viserys' death that secured the conqueror's crown for himself, and had he known perhaps he might have found a way to free himself from the responsibility of it. or perhaps he allows himself too much grace in thinking he would have stepped aside, but no one else would be lenient with him, so he allows himself to think it anyway. he envies daeron, for being the youngest, sent away to old town to the hightowers. he envies aemond for being more favoured by their mother. he's never known what life he would have liked for himself, for he's never seen the point in taunting himself with the what—ifs that could never become realities. unless he followed in the footsteps of saera targaryen and flee the expectations and responsibilities of king's landing and the red keep, but he wouldn't have chosen this one.

[infamescoronam]

❓is it as easy you make it seem — clearing your mind with drink and poor decisions? does it work?

Send my muse "❓+" alongside harsh hitting questions, scenarios, anything question-related really, but they can only answer with "yes" or "no". Nothing more, nothing less.

he doesn't remember exactly when he'd started needing copious volumes of alcohol in order to experience the numbing effect that only a few cups had once provided. nor does he know if the need for more comes from a learned tolerance to its effects or that the pains he finds he needs to numb in these more recent years will simply always require him to sink deeper into his cups. the sorrows he tries to drown now are ones he would not have imagined for himself when he'd first discovered the pleasure of falling into the oblivion that his favoured arbor red could provide. he knows well enough now that it only works in the way that milk of the poppy can ease pain without doing anything to aid in the actual healing of the wound. once the effects wear off in the morning, the pain comes rushing back and it takes another dose to get through another day.

but of course lucerys sees something other than. his nephew will see the same as the rest, one who indulges heavier than he should in any and every vice, and enjoys it. the amusement that curls the corner of his mouth upwards is hollow, fingers tapping against the rim of his half empty cup as the answer finally comes.

"no."

[harrenhalheir]

@worthproven sent ; ❝ you… came back? ❞

years had passed since last he had stepped foot upon dragonstone, surrounded instead by the burned and half ruined walls of harrenhal, relying on the slow drip of information that travelled the distance between them to learn anything of rhaenyra or the princes, and he suspected he was intentionally kept in the dark. the time apart could not erase his memory of the castle itself, the path he followed as he was escorted so familiar that he almost might have been able to walk it blindfolded. the death of king viserys could not be kept even from reaching harrenhal, for the support would be needed by both sides in the end, and the greens, foolishly so, thought they might yet sway the lord of harrenhal to their side. no reply had been sent to their missives, though reports would reach them in time of harwin's departure, and hasty travel.

there would be many versions told of how harwin strong presented himself before the queen, to swear his oath of fealty, the most popular version that it was before her council, who were already convened when he was led through the doors, and more salacious tales that suggested the meeting was private and involved more than an utterance of solemn words, though no one would be able to corroborate mushroom's claims. the stories tended to miss what came after, when the doors opened to admit another to the room, and the voice of prince jacaerys broke the silence. his head lifted, turning from its bowed position, towards the boy who could hardly be called a boy any longer. he had grown more than harwin had ever been able to easily envision, the image of the young boy he had been always blurring what might have been when he tried, but he was undeniably jace. his jace. pushing himself up from his knelt position, he took the chance to look over him, and take in the whole of him, the similarities and differences. he had grown into his features, though there was still a boyishness to him, not finished growing for a number of years yet. he looked every inch a prince, a sword at his side, and he wondered who had finished his training with him, for he had still been using practice weapons when harwin had left. "my prince." bowing his head slightly again, though his gaze never quite dropped away fully the way it should, "you have ... grown."

[polyolbos]

@waveswallowed sent ; 05. placing a cup of tea or coffee in front of them. ( for his little baby boy marker )

he had been urged, initially, not to abandon summerhall for king's landing, and only once they had all come to the reluctant acceptance that he would not change his mind, they had urged him to leave the younger children behind, a suggestion he had not heeded or pretended to consider. the ghost of dyanna seemed to already haunt them in those halls, and to leave any of his children behind as he travelled to seek comfort from his own father would be incomprehensible. the funeral had been, perhaps, the easiest part of her death, having family travelling to them, so that he was not alone with the six children. the journey was subdued, and easier for it in many ways, and yet he almost wished that one of them might cause some difficulty that he would have had some distraction, or so that he might know the children were recovering some part of their usual selves. it couldn't be rushed, he knew that much, but it would offer a reassurance of a kind.

the days of travelling ended with their retinue interrupting the quiet of the early hours of the night, horses and carriages filling up the courtyard. it had taken another hour or so for the children to be urged to their chambers, his girls taking the greatest amount of time to settle, yet he would have remained with them all night had they wished him to, rather than leaving them in the care of the nursemaids before they were ready. much of the activity they had brought with their arrival had died down again by the time he was sat before a fire, fingers pressing against his temple to ward off the threatening headache, the gentle sound of a cup set down finally nudging him into lifting his gaze to his father. "thank you." a small thing, to have a cup of tea provided by his own father, rather than trying to offer similar comforts to his own children and knowing that they would always fall short, when all they wanted was their mother. drawing a deep breath in, meeting his gaze, a change in his expression that would be so minor that almost any would miss it entirely but he had learned as a child that his father would always be able to tell. "kepa." taking another breath, an attempt to keep his voice steady, "i don't know what to do."

[polyolbos]

@waveswallowed sent ; 08. pulling them into a tight hug. ( for his other favourite grandson daeron bc i feel like he needs one )

he never much minded the times when his father decided to drag them all away from summerhall to king's landing, the visits hardly infrequent in his childhood and only becoming yet more commonplace in recent years following the death of their mother. in fact, he was sure that if maekar trusted his children to be left at home without his supervision, he would be gone much more, though daeron was glad such things rarely happened, not wanting to be left responsible for all of them. what he minded when they travelled was the increased expectation to act the way all thought summerhall's heir should act, despite his reputation being already known widely within the realm.

he'd endured aerion in his ear for much of the evening with a patience his brother no longer deserved, held polite conversation when he had been engaged in it over dinner and, offered no complaints. it was nigh guaranteed that it would start to crumble before the end of the evening, a faintly trembling hand reaching to refill his cup, only his second of the night only to have the bottle moved firmly out of his reach by his father, in turn earning an unwelcome commentary from aerion, no correction following as it might if he had spoken about the younger children. he shouldn't have left the table, certainly shouldn't have lifted a different bottle to take with him, but he could apologise for it on the morrow. perhaps.

the level in the bottle had changed little by the time his grandsire found him, though still clutched firmly within his grasp, his face turned slightly towards the older man, the silver light of the moon highlighting the tears upon cheeks. "i am sorry." the words became no less sincere, despite having to say them so often, though he knew people believed it less and less, or perhaps they simply cared less and less. "sobriety makes me much less tolerant of my brother." a lighter tone for those words, unable to remove the edge of truth, lips parting to speak more only for him to be silenced by the guiding arms that pulled him into his grandsire's chest, as he might have been when he was still a child, and as he might have done then, he let himself sag against him, bottle almost slipping loose from his hold.

[polyolbos]

@waveswallowed sent ; [ stitch ] sender stitches receivers wound. + you're gonna be okay , just keep your eyes on me. + you're banned from doing anything remotely dangerous. ( for egg <3 )

his scream could have woken the dead, a sound to rival the screech of a dragon overhead, the blood running hot from the gash in his arm, staining fabrics a bright red and eliminating any sense of independence the boy might have liked to claim he had, and would have sent him running for his father or grandfather, if he hadn't been reached first by the guards; something that was for the best or else he might have been found upon the stone floors for the pain threatened to take any strength from his legs once it finally registered. had he ever been wounded before, further than grazed knees and bruises from climbing where he shouldn't, he might not have panicked so, for it was a clean cut and not so deep, but to a boy of only nine years, it nigh seemed deadly, despite having witnessed knights surviving worse in tourneys.

the maesters had been sent for, along with a hurried message for his grandsire, for his father was away with daeron visiting some local lord, and despite the hot tears and the burning pain of skin torn open, the sight of the maester wielding a needle to stitch his wound closed had him reconsidering if it was really so serious as to need treatments, and his screeching had resumed in protest, loudly over those who might try to remind him that such behaviour wasn't suited to a prince. he had not quietened until his grandsire was there, and only once the two of them were left in the room, did he willingly hold his arm out for it to be taken care of.

"i wasn't doing anything dangerous." his tears had almost stopped, though damp tracks stained his cheeks and each stitch made him flinch as it went through skin. "i just slipped and fell." never mind that he had scrambled his way to the top of a wall, with the aid of a tree, in an attempt to chase down a cat, which had no doubt fled far away once he had started screaming.

[polyolbos]

@waveswallowed sent ; 03. brushing tears off of their cheeks. ( for his favourite grandson egg <3 )

he hadn't thought he would be found, or, at the least, not as swiftly as his grandfather managed to, thinking to take advantage of his own speed in running away and the vast halls that should have been able to easily hide a young boy within them, he wasn't very big after all. he'd successfully tucked himself into an embrasure, the corridor only lit by what filtered in through the small window and no guards currently stationed nearby, it should have been the perfect space to hide, for the next few hours, until the threat of tears was not so imminent and was overridden by a growling stomach, and even then he might only sneak his way into the kitchens, stealing a plate of whatever he might find to take back to his room, yet the sound of steps ruined any such plans, and his grandsire would have seen a head poking around the edge of the stone alcove, for as much as he could easily distinguish the sound of his siblings' steps from one another, he always found greater difficulty in telling his father and grandfather's gait apart.

he sank back against the wall, waiting for the older man to reach him, for it didn't matter so much if he saw the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks, his face flushed and splotchy, for it wouldn't be the first time, and unlikely to be the last, that egg's problems could only be lessened by luke, not because his father did not care, he knew that he did, but he knew that care was shared across his siblings in a way that didn't always make it easy to turn to him, and as much as he might love daeron, his eldest brother could do little, and all the rest were too young, like him.

he shifted to draw his knees up to his chest to make space for him to sit, the silence broken only by the sharp intakes of breath that came with such a volume of tears, try as he might to now stifle it, only made that much harder by the gentle wiping away of his tears, a gentleness that he already knew from tales would seem foreign to many from their king but to him it was almost expected, grown up as he had knowing it was something he could rely upon. "i only hit him because he wouldn't shut up." the blow, if it could even be called that when dealt by one so small in stature compared to aerion, had been from a training weapon, a retaliation for insults that he had nearly immediately come to regret, but forethought was not his strongest suit. "i won't apologise."