the thing about dragons

chapter two (II)

in which tragedy strikes and Lyra meets the devil.

part II

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warnings: canon-compliant violence, gore, Daemon Targaryen as a POV character, blood, death in childbirth (Aemma)

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It takes a month, but she gets her guitar. She's not sure she even wants to know what kind of strings Daemon has pulled to get it for her, but given that the craftsman who brings it looks more ready to strangle her father than deathly afraid of him, Lyra supposed it couldn't have been that bad.

It's not what she's used to, but it certainly is recognizable as one. She'll have to fine-tune it with time, and it's not like she's the size to play it properly just yet, but she manages.

But when she spends a day familiarizing herself with the instrument and making notes on what to change, and her fingers ache in a familiar way, it feels alright, for once.

She plays Wonderwall like the basic bitch she is at heart, but she elects to redeem herself with Playing God—or really anything from Polyphia, death hasn't cured her from her obsession with their music—as soon as she's physically able to, cursing her short fingers all the while.

Daemon is quite interested in whatever she's doing with it, at least. Though he makes a bigger fuss than necessary when she nicks her fingers on the strings, no matter how much she assures him that this is fine and normal and will happen again. If anything, it worries him more.

○

"So... This is... What do you call it again?"

"A guitar."

Lyra's pretty sure it says something about her, that fact that Aemma is the second person to hear her play anything other than mindless plucking.

"It looks a lot like the lute bards play," she notices, and Lyra nods.

"It's based on it, yes. It's a bit different, though."

And so, Lyra plays and Aemma listens, reclining in her velveted settee. She falls asleep like that, and Lyra doesn't dare wake her up, as now that she's started showing (second trimester, probably) she's been wracked by insomnia and nausea.

Lyra manages to drag a blanket over Aemma's legs and finishes her tea and scones before leaving.

○

The third person she plays to is Caraxes.

<Remember when I talked about a guitar? Well, I got one now!>

He sniffs the instrument and looks at her judgmentally. He probably doesn't like the lacquered wood; the smell is a bit offensive even for Lyra, but it will fade soon enough.

<I promise it's good.>

He barks at her without much conviction.

<Okay, that was just rude. Just for that, all you deserve is Wonderwall.>

Caraxes has no idea what Wonderwall is, but he's offended anyway. Lyra sticks her tongue out at him.

○

Aemma really likes Soldier, Poet, King. Enough to learn the lyrics and sing with her.

It's good, seeing her brighten up like that and forget the weariness and nausea.

The Maester tells Aemma not to overtax herself, and she glares at the man while Lyra throws various heavy objects at him in her stead. She nails him in the nose with the cup—that shuts him up, at least.