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117 AC.

DRIFTMARK


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𝕬𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕳𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊, 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓.



Disgust arose in her as she watched the fire play with the wood. It wrapped its flames around it and never let go.

This evening tasted bitter on her tongue. But no matter how many times she swallowed, the bitter taste remained.

Fire was the foundation of her family's power and yet she hated it. It always craved more, never had enough, and took what it didn't deserve.

At first it promised you warmth and security, but when you reached out to touch it, it burned you mercilessly. In the presence of fire, you were never safe. Alicent now understood.

As she stared there into the fire, she realized that she had lost a battle that evening. And that it wouldn't be the last. It was her duty as a mother to protect her children and she had failed. That night she realized that she had to leave the past behind. Her father had been right. With everything he had said. Rhaenyra was dangerous and she finally understood it. Her presence tormented her, reminded her of the days she should have long forgotten.

And that fire was the symbolism of their burned friendship.

The heat burned her cheeks, drying the tears she had shed that night.

She still saw her son's battered face in front of her, even though it had been several hours since she had put him to bed, Milk of the poppy on his lips to ease the pain he was suffering. She would never forget the sight of him. The destroyed eye, the cut that ran across the entire side of his face and the pain in his expression.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 I AEMOND TARGARYENWhere stories live. Discover now