𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐄 ~ aemond targaryen (discontinued)

16 ~ Final Tribute • II ~ 16

Whilst sipping at my spiced wine and enjoying the smooth, liquid fire as it slipped down my throat and heated my core, there was a weak groan that echoed from a couple seats down the long table. Heads turned, the gentle drone of quiet conversations died snd behind me, Helaena and Jace slowed to a waltz.

My father's face crumpled in deep agony, a frail, bony hand moving to grab at the sheathed side of his face and my heart reached out to him, almost lifting my body from the chair with it. I could pretend that if it was possible to exchange his pain and shoulder it as my own then I would do so in a heartbeat, but in truth, I dont think I was strong enough to deal with what he had been forced to endure. His tenacity, however, was the pure evidence of a strong king. A literal hole nested in Viserys' face where his eye once was and yet, for the sake of his family, his kingdom, he trudged on. He hadn't beckoned the Stranger forth. My father plowed onward, adamant that if he were to die, it wouldn't be by his own hand or choice.

I was lucky to call him my Father. The alternative was a filthy wretch, kept prisoner beneath the Keep for his blatant ignorance and misunderstanding of the simple bodily autonomy of another human being. Actually, no. Most who played with and crossed the line of anothers physical freedoms understood them well, too well, and they enjoyed the sickening power of violation. I was proud to credit the noble and fair Viserys to my existence. Lucky even, that I could look to the man who raised me and forget that I was created in a moment of pain and terror and invasion. He had allowed me to know myself as more than that single violent act, even if I am alive because of it. And my mother is not.

She would receive her vengeance. I swore upon it.

The guards rushed to whisk the King away, lifting his seat entirely and trudging him out of the hall, likely carrying him to the Maester for some more Milk of the Poppy. Though considering how alert the King had been this evening, removed from those blinding moments of crippling pain, I wasn't entirely sure he had accepted the medication this evening. His gaze had remained unclouded.

I knew the Milk of the Poppy to be an elixir which tested your inhibitions, subdueing the receiver into a dopey, bleary delirium. I had both witnessed and experienced the drug's effects. The poppy milk and I were all too well acquainted, more so than I would like. Some of the injured who lived past the lethal stages of their ailments grew addicted and attached to the Milks numbing properties and most addicts were those who grieved something. A friend, a brother, a father. A limb. They wished to remedy the soul as well as the body.

I myself had been tested on my reliance and resistance to the flirtatious draw of Milk of the Poppy. Its claws had latched deep for a time and anchored. But without it, my pain had been searing and suffocating and consuming. Even now, I sometimes considered just bracing a tint sip of the Milk, allowing a small droplet to soak my tongue. Especially as the nights grew colder, storms gathering above more frequently and my calf bone ached and I felt the rest of my leg threatening to crumble away. The scarring throbbed, cold cramping slithering deep into my nerves and squeezing.

Today had been a better day- less demanding upon my permanent afflictions. My leg, although tender and nagging to be released from the tight, chaffing grasp of the extrinsic gadget that kept me whole, or at least through appearance and performance, was not so sore as most days. Still it made its discomfort known.

With my mind upon the subject, by instinct, I brought a palm to my left knee and worked at the muscle, gently massaging away the strains upon the bony hinge beneath the table. It made small difference to the dull soreness but was comforting nonetheless.

Small mercies, I guessed. Another mercy being that in battle, my fight was often times more effective from the skies, sitting, keeping weight off my legs. I was not yet returned to full and proper health, but one day, the Maester had promised, I would be fit enough to fight as fiercely as I had before, even if my injury remained permanent. It would only take some time and patience. Something I was short of but willing to pay nonetheless. I had already achieved acceptance which was definitely a step in the right direction.