────────────
────────────
TWELVE;
『 IN MY WAKE 』
────────────
ㅤ THE JOURNEY TO Winterfell takes six days instead of seven. The two-hundred something men traveling with us is smaller than the numbers we usually journey with, therefore the trip was made shorter. Winterfell is just like the stories say it to be- harshly cold but unthinkably beautiful. I've never seen so much snow stick to the ground, nor so much beauty in one place.
Kotove and his army are camping just over the hill that we rest on. We have sent observers out to get a look at his camp. There are at least three thousand men with viable resources. Their formation is strong, as well. The grand tent, where Kotove would be staying, is stationed in the middle, surrounded by all of the other tents. They're nearly six miles out from the castle gates themselves, far too close for anyones liking. We've only been here for two days, but in this time they haven't moved camp up at all. It's like their waiting for something to come to them instead.
"This doesn't make any sense." Sermond says from across the fire. I break another twig down the middle and toss it into the flames. I watch as it slowly disintegrates under the heat of the fire.
"It does. Kotove is expecting us to come to him. And, if I'm correct, he'll want to kill me. He won't hesitate to do so. His mother has likely told him a hundred times how I murdered his father in cold blood, although that is less than true." I answer with a grimace. Kotove's mother likely told her son of his fathers success and power, not of his failure and rebellion. He seeks revenge because he thought his father was a good one, not a backstabbed and a traitor to his own brother and nieces.
"What are we to do? We'll run out of resources eventually." Sermond says, as if I'm not already aware. I shoot him a sideways glance. He sits up straighter.
"Tomorrow I plan on making my way down there and confronting him. I do not want a battle, we do not have nearly the number of men for a battle. I want to settle this with my words. And since he's young, maybe he'll listen." I state with a firmness in my voice that will not be towed. I'm going to do it, wether I have his agreement to it or not. I will not invite bloodshed into this land if it can be helped.
"You are a wise woman, but I fear that going by yourself may not allow you to return." Sermond's voice is dipped in fear. He does not want to loose me. I can understand it. I don't want to die.
"Going with a party, or even another may be a sign of hostility. I know it is dangerous. Being here, with this little of men is dangerous, but we are risking it anyways, are we not?" I ask. Sermond's jaw tightens. I watch as his jaw slides out then back in. He lowers his eyes back to the fire and watches it dance.
I would be lying to myself if I told myself I wasn't afraid of what tomorrow will bring. There will be violence and death or there will be agreement and Kotove will stand down- but I doubt that to happen. I will have to find a delicate way with my words to avoid upsetting anyone. The conversation will be delicate and I will have to handle it with care. If not, I can expect to have a sword go through me. The thought makes me shiver.
"I best get to bed, then." I say, standing from the snow-coated log in which I had been sitting on. Criston waves and Sermond jumps up to follow me. I trek to our tent, leaving the footsteps of my boots in my wake. Sermond walks next to me. I don't look at him, I avoid it, because I know if I do look at him I'll see the disappointment on his face. I've had enough of that look in my life.
I push aside the flap and step in. Our roll, where we sleep, has been layered with animal furs to keep us warm. I slip off my riding gear and change into my night dress. Sermond silently changes into his sleep wear. We stand back to back, not saying anything but feeling enough emotions to fill the air. Once I've finished, I make my way over to the bed roll and climb under the furs. Sermond does the same. He lies silently next to me on his back with his hands placed over his stomach. He stares idly at the top of the tent.
I rest my hand on his. His breathing moves our hands up and down. I don't want him to worry, although I know that's all he will do. He's a worrier, that's what makes him so imaginative all of the time. He's always making theories up about what could go wrong.
"I understand your worry," I say. "But it must be done. I will be the only one that he wants to speak to." I say gently. He closes his eyes for a brief moment while he lets out a long sigh. My lips firm into a thin line.
"I don't want anything to happen to you. For my sake, for the sake of the girls." He replies with heavy eyes as he looks at me. I pull my hand away from his and rest my palm on his cheek instead. Gently, I brush my thumb back and forth over the redness in his cheeks. I stare at the man that I've been in love with for so long, the man that I share two beautiful children with, the man that has been at my side through everything.
"I fear that if I do not try and put an end to this now, his forces will only grow stronger and our lives will only fall into graver danger." I pick my words kindly. One wrong word may send him into a spiral of emotion and I don't think I can handle that. He nods slowly in understanding. I pull my hand back, as I do, he reaches out and grabs it. He takes my hand and lowers it under the blankets.
My eyes flutter closed. I listen to the sounds of the camp. The horses neighing, the clattering of armor, the burning of a fire, and the breathing of Xareni, who rests not too far off.
* * *
I STARE INTO eyes much like my own. An electric blue. I recognize his face. Kotove. He looks much like his father, but youth engulfs him. He is still so young and innocent, not yet knowing of the brutal and cruel ways of the world. He looks at me with a disturbingly evil face.
Suddenly, I'm drifting out of my body. Whatever I am now floats to the top of the tent that we're in. I look down at my body, lifeless on the floor, with blood streaming from my neck. I tell myself to wake up, but no words come from me. Kotove stands over me with a blood-soaked blade in his hand. He has killed me and now he stands with pride over my lifeless body.
* * *
I WAKE UP panting. I sit up in one quick motion. My eyes have flashes open in a heartbeat. My dream felt much too real. I can feel the intenseness of the dream still all around. It takes me a few long moment to calm myself down, to remind myself who I am and where I am. I look to my left, at Sermond, who has rolled onto his side. His breath still rises and falls with a sleepy deepness. Slowly, I crawl from the bedroll to our makeshift wardrobe, which is just a chest of our things.
I unclothe myself from my nightgown and instead dress myself with a chest plate. After strapping it around my torso, I put on my riding gear. It is dark, the only dark clothing that I brought. This meeting will not call for vibrant clothes. I place the Targaryen pin over my heart like I've done a thousand times before. I strap my sword into its death and bury my dagger into my boot. I pull open the flap to the tent and step outside.
The night is still present as ever. The moon is high and full. I breathe in the night air. My body shakes, not because of the cold, but because of the fear buried inside me. My dream, a message, has awoken me in hopes of letting me know that I must go now. I must face the terror that looms over the hill. Instead of going towards that, I walk the opposite direction, towards the small hill in which Xareni rests on.
I approach him, but he's already awoken. He must've caught my scent. I hold out my hand. He sniffs it and buts my hand. I gently stroke the scales of his nose. He can sense my fear, I believe.
"If I don't return," when I say this he tilts his head to the side. "Burn his entire army." I demand. "Shifang?" I ask. It's another term in High Valyrian- one that asks if the other understands. Xareni lifts his head up and down slowly with uncertainty. I grin and stroke his beautiful turquoise scales again. Sometimes I believe he is a human trapped inside the body of a beast, with all that he understands.
The fire the center of camp has died now. Nothing, not even a spark remains. I untie the horse that had been stationed outside our tent. I haul a saddle onto his back and adjusts the straps. This horse is jet black, with not a single marking. He has no name, but I have unofficially decided to call him Death. I hop onto his back and grab hold of the leather reins. As I'm turning him to leave, I see a familiar body standing outside the tent.
Sermond stands there with sleepy eyes. He's wearing his white tunic and thin pants. He must be freezing. He walks over to me in a haze and tries to grab the reins from me. I pull them to the opposite side, not allowing him to.
"I won't allow you to leave." He demands. He reaches over Death's neck and tries to grab the reins, but I pull them out of reach. His attempts fail time after time, but he doesn't seem to give up.
"Many men have tried to tell me what to do," I say. "All have failed. Including you, in this attempt." I won't let him pull me away from what I must do. I'm a Targaryen, after all, I never let things go unfinished. He steps back and runs his hand through his hair. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his lashes are moist.
"Take care of the girls for me." I say with a smile. "I must follow my dreams, they are fate." I say. I'm not sure if he understands exactly what I mean. I'm not sure if others dream the same way that I do. Perhaps it is only my dreams that always transform into reality, or perhaps it happens to other as well.
I bend down and plant a kiss on his lips. He kisses back, slowly, painfully. I savor the moment. Though, it can't last forever. I kick Death's sides with the stirrups and he's pushed into motion. My mouth is pulled away from his. I keep my head facing him. He gets smaller and further with every step we take. I keep a smile on my face. I want to be remembered with a warm expression, not a cold one, not a frightened one. I know what I face as I trot down the hill.
The journey isn't long. By the time I arrive the first colors are breaking over the sky. Oranges and pinks mix together like a wonderful painting. Knights on horseback ride over to me as I reach the bottom of the hill. They demand to know who I am- as if the hair and eyes don't give it away. When I announce who I am and the reasons for my arrival, they hop of their horses and pull me from mine. I say goodbye to Death by stroking his muzzle. I keep his reins his back so he may run away if he pleases. Perhaps he'll go back to camp, maybe he won't.
I'm dragged into the camp. One knight grasps each side of my upper arm. Though, I don't let them take all my pride. I walk, despite the quick pace, and keep my head up. I look at every soldier that I pass, straight into his eyes. I want them to see me, to know me, to remember me. I keep my face firm, determined. I want them to know I'm here because I wanted to be here, to settle this myself. We reach the center of camp. His tent is huge and made of black and golden fabrics. A knight posted outside of his tent slips inside and states my arrival. He comes back out a moment later and motions for the knights to drop my arms. They do.
The knight posted outside lifts the flap. I enter, walking with strength and determination. I enter into what seems to be his office space. A desk, chairs and pillows surround me. Animal skulls are sat on the edge of his desk and his chair is backed with a number of animal furs. A quill sits motionless in its container of ink. He had plenty of parchment, but none of them have been written on. He sits back in the chair with his hands together, his fingertips pushed against one another.
He truly is the spitting image of his father, but a much younger one. Their eyes share the same cruelty and scarceness. He motions for me to sit. I take a seat at the chair across from his desk. I rest my arms on the arm rests and sit up straight.
"We finally meet." His voice doesn't have a hint of youth. His voice is firm and distinct.
"I'm disappointed that we meet under these circumstances." I reply evenly. His eyes are zoned into me, watching me with a closeness that keeps me on edge.
"We meet under these circumstances because fourteen years ago you stabbed my father and left my mother alone with I in her belly." His voice is stripped of all emotion, it's what I may imagine talking to a wall to sound like. He speaks truth, but I wonder if he knows the full story.
"Your father stabbed his brother in cold blood and attempted to murder his niece over a throne. He was ambitious, too much so for his own good." I choose my words carefully but keep their importance known.
"I want to be more fair than my father. I want to give you a choice," I inhale a deep breath. "My mother tells me the beauty of your daughters, the stories she has heard about them. I believe, if I dare say, that marrying one of them would not only unite the realm, but ensure that this pure Targaryen blood remains stable." I fight back the urge to reach over the table and stab him in the heart. I have never wanted anyone to speak of my girls like he speaks of them now, like objects of desire made for only marriage and bearing children. He truly is his fathers son.
"They are ten years of age. They are far too young to marry." I reply.
"I'm well aware," he says with a nod. "But, one of them can still be promised to me. It will unite the people again. They will have a King and a Queen. Our forces will be stronger than ever and our bloodline will no longer be uncertain." His words make sense, as I must admit, but I will not marry either of my daughters off to such a man of cruel intention. I cant imagine them ever being happy or smiling again with him by their side. They will be miserable and never forgive me for it. I would never forgive myself for it.
"What's the other option?" I ask. He tilts his head to the other side. He opens the drawer and pulls out a sword. He places it on the center of his desk. I stare at it, unblinking. It's the same blade that sliced my skin in my dream.
"I kill you here and now. I'm bright enough to know that if you don't return, your husband will take matters into his own hands and kill my soldiers. But, these are just a small number of my resources. Dragonstone has grown powerful. I will go back there and rebuild what I have lost, then I will take the Red Keep by storm and marry whichever one of your daughters I choose. This option will only buy them some time. I will marry either way." I blink. I don't like either of these options, but I dislike one more slightly more than the other.
"I believe I would much rather burn what you have here and buy my daughters as much time as I can. They're so young, so innocent of the ways of men and the world. They laugh, they play, they dance and tell stories. They are children, they are too young to grow up too fast. If I can let them prosper in their childish ways for even a little longer, I will. I never got to enjoy my youth and I now realize how much I wish I could've." My words shake. In everything I've been through, I never thought it would be me sending myself to my death.
"I see, Desmara. I respect your wishes. I aspire to be fair, more like my mother, and with that I'll let them grow until they are fourteen, the age I am now. Whenever they reach fourteen, I will take one of them into marriage, wether it be with force or with consent. I will unite my army with the Red Keep's. I will sit on the Iron Throne. I will rule over the Seven Kingdoms." I hear the ambition of Daemon in his voice. The dragon doesn't fall far from his nest.
Slowly, I pull my sword from my sheath and place it on the desk. "Whichever you try and marry, give this to her. As a reminder, a treasure." He nods then gets up from the chair. I do the same. He breaks the few feet between us and stands inches away from me, gripping the handle of his sword in his hand.
I reminisce on my life. Where I stared, in a kind village home under the comfort of my mother. I think of my youth, of how I rode a dragon into battle and faced Daemon. I think of how I watched him murder my father. I think of the next battle, whenever I murdered a black guard and tasted the extent of my brutality. I think of Rhaenyra, and how she survived Daemon's blade with nothing but intellect. I think of Sermond, our wedding, and how we vowed to love one another in life and in death. I think of Gevivis and Jaelarys, my beautiful girls, and how I welcomed them into this world with a smile and Sermond standing by my side. I think of how I've watched them grow into young women. I think of how much I'll miss them and how hard it'll be for Sermond to tell them I won't be coming back, but then I think of the four years of peace they'll have. The four years I've given them without second guessing it.
"Your father would've loved you." I say. He blinks with knowingness.
He raises his sword. I close my eyes. Sharpness cuts my skin. Pain. I feel the blood draining from my body. Like the men I've killed, I raise my hand to try and stop the blood. It just slips through my fingers. I fall to my knees. My eyes barely waver open. I can see Kotove. He stands over me now. I feel the life slipping from my body. I fall back. My eyes draw closed with a sudden tiredness. I don't feel the pain anymore. I smile as I think of my life, as I think of the people that have made me love it.
I hope that my girls can learn to fight and love like I did.
I hope that Sermond understands why I had to give myself to death.
I hope that Rhaenyra can love and continue to raise my girls.
I hope...