⤷ ❛ 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄 ❜
IN WHICH . . .
there's a saying: every time a targaryen
is born, the gods flip a coin - what if the
coin never landed for lillibaeth? what then?
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON,
daemon targa...
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The harsh sound of echoed clanking and silver body plates scraping against each other was the only noise that rolled through the ethereally designed Red Keep just as the sun disappeared below the horizon of The Narrow Sea. The heaviness of Ser Abyl's armor not slowing him down in the slightest, able to keep his breathing calm and stable.
The opaque figure of his shadow cast upon the uneven surface of the walls quivered as he traveled down the stoned passageways from the slow melting lit candlesticks. The flickering lights mocked the dark as the much larger distorted human form stalked him sinisterly no matter how far he ran, never being able to outrun it.
He passed the occasional guard or servant, silently praying to the Gods that his unusual behavior wouldn't alarm them given the circumstances with the king's daughter and have it be relayed to him or worse, his hand Otto.
Otto held the same distain as Viserys towards Lillibaeth; maybe even more vile — every decision the king made for the princess, there was his loyal hand lurking behind him, pulling on his strings like a fucked up puppeteer who's helpless victims were made of warm flesh, blood, and a beating heart.
It wasn't urgent as Lilly had since calmed down significantly and rested safely with her handmaidens and sister but Daemon had strictly instructed that Abyl come to him immediately if something had occurred while he was away, and truth be told it deeply scared the Kingsguard to disobey the prince, especially when it came to the princess. Daemon had always been fiercely protective of his nieces, but in particular Lillibaeth — Rhaenyra could hold her own and that wasn't to say that her older sister could not do the same, but Rhaenyra wasn't in constant danger of looming harm and under savage scrutiny by the king.
Daemon truly loved his brother. He loved his family. But it was times like these, where the hatred spewed like tainted blood in the direction of Princess Lillibaeth, is when that love seemed to falter.
The warm sun casted a golden glow on the outer yards of King's Landing as the doors opened with Abyl stumbling outside, taking a short break to catch his now labored breathing before picking up speed through the yards, under the gatehouses, and down the winding paths with swift movements of his arms for gained momentum in the direction of Daemon's booming voice. As it seemed to dare him to beckon closer, to make him aware that the one person who swore to protect Lillibaeth had once again failed her all in one day.
The City Watch hovered around Prince Daemon like he was the sun, the very reason for their existence, and in a way that was true. Daemon's lavender eyes glowered through his browbone, scanning the many men who teetered on their feet anxiously.
"How dare you wear these cloaks I have bestowed upon you! Making you worth something under the Targaryen name — only to shit in my face and allow someone unauthorized into the castle! That very someone to go and attack our dear princess!" He spat, the intensity of his voice mirroring the roar of his dragon, Caraxes.
