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CHAPTER THIRTEEN. ━━━━━━━━━ And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.
JOHN STEINBECK ━━━━━━━━━
CLARYSSE MOANS DEEP IN THE BACK OF HER THROAT, scrunching her eyes shut, flinging one arm dramatically over her face as Aegon opens the shutters with a rattle that shakes her skull. The sound almost makes Aegon get back under the covers with her.
"Must we get up?" she whines, pulling the nearest pillow over her head. The bed is already cold where Aegon laid only minutes earlier, despite her very best wriggling to keep the coziness wapped tight around her. "Can we not just stay here all day?" She knows even as she says the words that she must don her dresses and perform for the court, but she wishes not to. She wants to stay in bed with him.
"I am indisposed," she continues with a groan as Aegon ignores her, and opens another shutter. "Why, I am quite ill. Please close the shutters again. My head aches so terribly."
He laughs, and her head rings, and she groans louder. "That is what drink does to you."
"Why did you make me drink so, then?" she accuses, shifting herself half up off the bed to find his gaze for he sounds grossly unrepentant and amused at her suffering. Indeed, when she blearily blinks a few times in his direction, his face is creased with laughter — from what she can see anyhow, for he stands right in the path of the sun that is blinding her.
"I?" He laughs. "This was all your own doing."
"Well you should have stopped me." She laughs despite herself, regretting it sorely when her head throbs further. "You are older, you know better."
He looks fine, Clarysse can't help but note. Striding around with his face tilted towards the sun, eating an apple slice plucked from the plate the servants had sent to break his fast, smiling ear to ear. It rankles her, his ease. It endears him to her, too, but she would never admit that to him. His ego is inflated as is.
He pats her shoulder, eyes bright. "I forget sometimes that you have only a child's tolerance for such things," Aegon admits.
"I was just happy," she sighs. "I wish it could always be like that."
"You, a raging drunk?"
"Was I raging?" she gasps horrified.
"A jape. You were the perfect lady, as always. If only a little giddy."
"That is acceptable." Clarysse says. She tilts her head, lips pushed out in thought. "Did you prefer me drunk?"
"Well I would prefer you remember our time together," he says dryly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll leave you to get dressed."
"Hmm. Perhaps I'll stay in bed all day." She falls back onto plump pillows, wanting nothing more than to sleep the day away. Perhaps she'll invite Margaery to lay with her, for her sister already knows of Aegon and her.
"Whatever you like, sweetling. You know the way back to your chambers through the tunnels?"
"Of course." They have done this countless of times, after all.
He checks himself over in the looking glass, straightening his collar before heading to the door. Clarysse watches him wistfully, wordlessly imploring him to come back.
"Won't you keep me company?" she tries a final time.
One hand on the doorframe, Aegon turns to her. Regret is clear in his eyes, the set of his mouth a frown, and clearly he is as reluctant as her to leave.
"I wish I could. My father wants me to meet with Lord Eddard, whatever for. Another day, I swear it."
She smiles as he softly closes the door behind him; he has not broken his promises thus far.
HER DAY IS SPENT WITH her siblings, lounging lazily in the gardens and eating more raspberry cakes than what would be deemed approprite. They rarely find the time nowadays to simply sit together and talk. In Highgarden, every minute was spent together, but in King's Landing their lives differ greatly. They seem to never find an afternoon to spare. It's nice, Clarysse concludes, to have a moment of peace and tranquility.
There's a moment when she suddenly thinks, I'm going to miss them, which makes her realise that she is already getting accustomed to the notion of staying here. The thought no longer fills her with agitation.
As she looks upon Margaery and Loras, who are both nursing their cups of green tea, faces upturned to catch the last rays of the slowly setting sun, Clarysse smiles. She would miss them, certainly, but the bonds of siblings are not so easily severed.
Her day ends where it began, in Aegon's chambers. They share a small dinner — a platter of bread and hard cheese, figs and pears and black olives with herbs, freshly imported from Tyrosh. Their cups are filled with watered down wine.
Aegon is worried about her, she can see it in his eyes. Ever since she had told him about the rape he'd given her more space. For once, she wishes he would smother her instead. "I want you to be happy," he says after he'd been suspiciously quiet for some time. "About this, about us. Tell me what you need."
Clarysse shakes her head. "When this first began, I was terrified. The only thing I wanted even less than to come to King's Landing was to be introduced to you." At this, Aegon huffs out a laugh and bites into a fig. "You know that is no longer the case. I wish that I..." She trails off. What is the point in wishing for the impossible? You cannot fall out of love with someone. She has tried. But truthfully, she doesn't want to fall out of love. She wants Aegon to be a simple lord, so that they may live a simple life. And as she thinks it, she feels ridiculous. Clarysse puts her hand on Aegon's cheek. "I love you, Egg. I have for some time now."
Aegon takes her hand and kisses her palm. "When I dreamed of you saying those words, you were always happy."
"You make me happy, I swear it." It is the rest of the world that's drowning me, she thinks but doesn't say. There is nothing he can change about his station in life, no more that she can change her desires. She lays her head on his shoulder and intertwines her fingers with his.
A girl, Aegon remembers, and the words echo in his head. My father nearly ruined the realm for a girl.
Though he'd been exhausted from the day's events, Aegon doesn't sleep until nearly dawn. Sounds keep him awake, none of them coming from the still, sleeping Keep. The scrape of shovels on ice, though distant. The dull crack of a whip. The crackling of a fire. The ambient murmur of a crowd. A polished voice in even rhythm. I wish that I...
