For a century, the Targaryens held sway over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros: from the arid deserts of Dorne to the icy expanses of the North, from the verdant plains of the Reach to the rugged coasts of the Stormlands. Yet, amidst the splendor of th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
»So, why 'Siv'?« he asked suddenly, as they watched a man tightrope-walking between the rooftops of two houses above them. Crazy people, thought Siveen.
»My brother started calling me that when he was very young because he couldn't pronounce my name properly,« she replied, and Daemon nodded. It had always amused Siveen how her brother, at the age of two, still couldn't say her name correctly, prompting their mother to give Siveen it as a nickname. She felt so proud when she gave birth to a boy, even though Siveen had desperately wanted a sister at the time. It hadn't been easy for their parents, raising two stubborn children just two years apart. Oh, how their mother Talisa used to scream and scold them when they came home dirty, sometimes with scraped knees. It was one of the few things Siveen oddly missed. Just coming home and being cared for by her mother. She hadn't appreciated it then, but she did now. At least until the time her parents worried she wouldn't be able to have children. Once it was clear she couldn't, everything had gone downhill.
»Pardon the question, but why did your father send you to King's Landing instead of coming himself or sending one of his men to represent him on the Small Council?« he asked, receiving a warning glance from Siveen. He quickly corrected himself, fearing she might rebuff him as she had before. »I don't mean to suggest you're not suitable for the role. I'm just used to seeing nobles marry off their daughters as quickly as possible,« he said, attempting to salvage the situation. He had clearly learned from their last encounter. Siveen noticed that he suddenly wasn't speaking to her in such a condescending manner anymore.
Siveen walked alongside him for a while, sighing, pondering whether she should tell him, whether it was appropriate, or whether it was any of his business. Technically, it wasn't. But still, she wanted to tell him, after all, he had asked her now, even if it hurt. Even though she had absolutely no interest in being that typical image of a woman who only produces heirs, she still felt like she had failed as a woman in the eyes of everyone else. And that was what hurt. Especially when her own family couldn't even look at her anymore. With lips pressed together, they stopped next to a crowd gathered in front of a small stage.
»I can't have children,« she replied after a long pause, and Daemon furrowed his brow, looking at her with surprise.
»Who told you that?« he asked astonishingly softly, somewhat shocked by what she had just told him. Siveen was used to it, as that was the usual expression she always received when she told someone. Even though his response was definitely different from the others, who only ever showed her pity, as if her life was over.
»Healers, septas, priests,« she began to list. »The men my father sent me to,« she finished her sentence, taking a deep breath. That was her world back then, but it brightened again as the years passed, and she no longer had to endure those agonies. It had been exactly on her eighteenth nameday, almost exactly ten years ago now.
Daemon's expression softened suddenly, his mouth opening slightly, and she was certain he was about to offer her compassion, but they were abruptly interrupted by a loud voice of a man who ran up onto the stage, completely masked with white paint covering his entire face and his eyes painted red.
