𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 || Cregan Stark

29 | Burden's Blood

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
B U R D E N S   B L O O D

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She has tried to keep away from him. Has tried to pry herself from the weight of his unruly gaze.

When she hears the door of the study open in the far distance, she puts her palm to her mouth, hoping to stifle her hoarding breath.

But it is a meaningless venture.

Daemon finds her anyway.

At first, he says nothing. He only watches her with the surety and reluctance of a man who has already decided his course, yet lingers at the precipice of something unspoken. His presence fills the space, a weight pressing against her spine before he even utters a word.

Viserra does not turn to face him. Rather, she keeps her eyes fixed on the flickering candle before her, the wax pooling like melted gold upon the wooden desk. The flame dances, teasing the shadows along the walls, but it does nothing to warm the cold that has settled inside her. Her fingers braze over the scattered parchment before her, as though fearing it might slip away.

"What is it?" She speaks in a hesitant, soft idiom that should not belong to her. Wariness has drawn out the ferocity in her, leaving her quiet and idle once more.

Daemon observes her cautiously.

"Am I not allowed to walk these halls freely?" he mutters.

"Isn't Alys here somewhere, willing to entertain you?"

He doesn't answer, his gaze deepening with neither displeasure nor humour.

His steps are slow as he approaches her, coming to a halt by the edge of the table.

Viserra glances up at him, taking in his lessened disposition. Her own features are as indifferent as his, dulled of wits and wants.

She parts her lips once more. "Or perhaps you like them younger, hm?"

For a split second, something in the depth of his eye hardens. An irate ire that quickly dies out.

"Must you be so bitter?" he mutters.

She is quiet, watching him turn away, stepping around the table.

Viserra remains seated, leaned back and sunken in her seat. Tiredness drapes her solemn features, a ghostly weight pressing against her. She watches as he moves toward the hearth, his hand resting on the high-backed chair before it, fingers curling against the carved wood. The fire casts a flickering glow across his face, sharp shadows cutting along his jaw.

"You always speak as though I have wronged you," Daemon says at last, not looking at her.

She exhales deeply, a sound caught between a scoff and a sigh. "Have you not?"

His grip tightens on the chair. "Tell me how."

She clenches her hands in her lap, nails biting into her palm.

"Why did you leave Dragonstone?" Her tone slips, revealing the iron beneath. Her gaze hardens as she stares at him, a newly-found irritation growing evident in her.

His jaw sets, his eyes finding their way back to her.

"It was needed of me."

She furrows her brows. "Why was it needed?"

"We require Harrenhal, and the support of the Riverlands," he says, matter-of-factly, his gaze narrowing with precision.

"No." Viserra shakes her head faintly, refusing to abide by his answer. "What was your true reason?"