𝗔 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 ─ team green, hotd.

united in grief.

                                                                                                           " Half daughter,
                                       half apology, all fire and the wrong kind of love."

　　The king's chambers were dark and suffocatingly hot. On the walls, a dull dance of shadows flickered. The dragon-king didn't like fire, so as the sun went down, he asked the maids to leave him only a couple of candles. He had no use for it anyway.

　　In the corner of the room stood the Prince, leaning his shoulder against the wall, the light illuminating only half of his face as his sapphire shined in the darkness. On the corner of the King's bed lay the Princess, her face buried deep in the warm robes around the legs of the lying King. She had come dangerously close to falling asleep right before King spoke out. He was telling a folktale. It wasn't his idea, but rather a fiction he'd picked up on the Street of Silk.


　　"... And a Princess was born. A girl, that had all of her mother's beauty and none of her nature. Many years she spent locked away in a high tower, visited only by the maesters. There, the Princess was rotting away, while still alive. Only after ten years did the King let her out of her prison. When she met people, Princess wore long gloves, hiding underneath them whatever she considered ugly. Her body may have been mutilated, but her face was still considered to be one of a kind. There were many suitors for the hand and heart of the princess. She was clever, kind, and selfless. A girl to sing songs of and to ride at the battle for".


　　A chuckle was heard in the corner, a low voice laughed only once, but the Princess's taunting laughter immediately filled the room. She stretched, snuggling closer to the warmth of the bed with her whole body, and spoke:


　　"Kind and selfless?" the girl's voice replied with wicked irony.


　　"The Princess loved to interrupt everyone who complimented her, of course, but that didn't make her any less endearing," his reply was met with a heavy sigh. "Of course, none admired her kindness or were interested in her intelligence. Of all her virtues, only her face could be valued. The Princess was married to a foolish and proud Golden Lord. He seated her in a castle on a mountain, surrounded her with silks and golds, gave her to the maesters, so that her ills would not disturb him, and decided that she was happy."


　　Aegon laughed. His fairytale was not close to the reality. The actual Princess laid before him, did not look happy. She still wore her gloves, but now she adorned them with golden rings and glowing green stones. The circles under her hollowed eyes were stronger than ever, and purple veins still poked out from beneath her white skin like patterns on marble.


　　The King himself had only golden goblets left from his kingship. He placed the crown on his brother's head and rarely left his room these days, visited only by his servants, whores, and not so often — his siblings. The silver of the rings now burned his hands, so he stopped wearing them. Nothing on his face suggested that he was the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon had an ugly burn spread all across his body, covering him with scars uglier than any his brother and sisters ever bore. He was surrounded by soft silks and wool blankets; fresh fruits and sweet aroma from the Dorne, yet the smell of rotting flesh filled his chambers.


　　Aegon did not believe in The Seven. Inside his chambers, he laid his own altar, on which he placed too much — almost everything he held dear. And yet, it was not enough. Helaena was no longer by his side, his presence no longer warmed his bed, and her candle on his altar was long extinguished. The Gods never listened to his prayers. Or maybe they just didn't understand them.


　　"And I am your dragon then, Highness?"  Prince asked. His voice, ringing copper, cold metal, so harsh it was sometimes frustrating to listen to. But now, in the shadow of the royal chambers, his voice sounds almost soft, as if the metal was melting. "A beast, covered in green scales who lost his arms and legs."


　　Aegon was about to say something in response, but his sister answered first. Aemma, still feeling weak, lifted her head from her brother's lap and turned it toward the younger one.


　　"I don't think that you will ever see or do evil so horrible that you will cease to be human. You are no dragon, Aemond. Just a person."  she spoke softly, as if to herself as if it meant nothing else. Words, dreams, fairy tales...


　　Their Princess has heavy eyelids and six fingers on her right hand. Her skin became snow-white, scarred by maester's precise cuts. Their Dragon has dried blood on his calloused hands and the seven-pointed star beneath his armor. The Prince knows what he is. He feels the salty taste of blood on his lips and the heat of Vhagar's flames in his own body. He still prays, but now he only asks the Father to punish him harder.


　　Yet somehow he believes her. He believes in those words more than in all Seven.


　　"You liar,"  he answers with no emotion. She smiles. King nods.


　　They thought of themselves Gods, creating a new wondrous world. Finding breath in terror. They were teenagers. And now, staring into each other's eyes — at what Aemond had done to their dreams, at what they had done to the people — the king, the dragon, and the princess felt the icy whiff of death in each other's faces.

　　It was a long time since they knew the reason for this war. But now they couldn't turn back. It became truly endless.


　　"I will wait for you".