𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 [𝗥𝗼𝗯𝗯.𝗦]

22

OF MY BLOOD

DAERON huffed, he was filthy. The blood that covered him from head to toe was a disastrous sight indeed. His rage had reached a level that even he understood little off. Daeron was bitter, and that was the truth.

The bodies that were scattered around him were his enemies, that much was true. And his allies knew that, specifically Ser Barristan. But the man always seemed to stare at him in a disapproving manner. Not that he was surprised, the man was only loyal to his niece. Visenya, the woman that had gathered such bitter feelings within his heart.

"It is true, your Grace. The people have been whispering more of Visenya. Than yourself, but, they do not know you."

Daeron frowned, crossing his bloodied arms from the assassins that had been sent to kill him.

"I think, no, I know they would come to love and admire you. But all they know is Visenya. And... they whisper of her. I've been told, but I know not what of. They could simply talk of her and the dragons she has. Or they might fear her. I don't know, as I live amongst the sand and the savages, Your Grace."

Daeron glared at him furiously. His rage grew with every moment the blood remained on his pale skin.

The assassins had been searching for him and Visenya. Most of his life he had ran from them, or so his elder brother had once claimed. But he never saw one, and if they did exist they were always in the shadows. But this time, they had tried and unsuccessfully too. They had seemed to believe that Visenya followed him wherever he went. But she did not, and certainly not now. She still refused to even glance at him, her own anger was great indeed.

"I didn't mean to insult you. The North is very different, and I wish to serve you well. And that means telling the truth, above all."

"I believe you about Visenya, they know her. Whether they talk of her in a good manner or bad, that is unseen. But I don't doubt you. And please, don't insult my people! I would rather not remove your head from your shoulders."

Ser Jorah frowned. "I've noticed that she refused to... well. Anything really. I'm sorry if what I said had caused problems." Although he looked sincere to Daeron that was far from the truth.

"Will she forgive me?"

"For accusing her of wanting to steal the throne? Maybe, maybe not. She is loyal to the Starks, your Grace. And King Robb only wants the North to himself, I think she would rather follow him than you. Given she was raised amongst the whole lot of them."

Daeron didn't know whether he wanted her to forgive him. Perhaps their relationship was better off the way it was, then his judgement wouldn't be clouded upon a possible betrayal. His heart often loved far too deeply.