forum Crowns of bone and shadow ((one-on-one//closed//18+, R))
Started by @ElderGod-Carrots

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Rhaenys sighed loudly, though it still couldn’t be heard over the rushing of the wind in her ears. It was a sigh intended to let go of everything burdening her tortured soul. Somehow, her dragon Meleys heard it too. The Red Queen let out a loud snort, almost sounding in agreement with her rider. Rhaenys’ lips bloomed into a smile for the first time in what felt like ages.

The recent death of her son, Laenor, had made the death of her daughter, Laena, resurface in her mind, and the combined pain was overwhelming the Lady of Driftmark day in and day out. Rhaenys needed to clear her head, and what better way was there to accomplish that than by flying? Sometimes, it was Meleys who understood Rhaenys better than anyone, even her husband Corlys. Never mind that her devoted husband was nearly on his deathbed. Illness had overtaken him a few days after word of Laenor’s death had spread through Driftmark’s castle.

So the pair had taken a quick ride around the island of Driftmark and were just approaching the castle again. Meleys banked over toward the castle, and Rhaenys looked down at the blue waves below. Despite being the offspring of the Targaryen and Baratheon houses, Rhaenys fit in easily with House Velaryon. Related by blood and marriage to three Houses in Westeros, many questioned Rhaenys’ allegiance. That answer to that was simple. She had the blood of the dragon and the stag in her coursing through her veins, but her entire devotion lay in her husband’s house. She carried the name Velaryon with the pride and honor it deserved.

Finally, Meleys landed just outside of Driftmark’s gates. Rhaenys dismounted from her dragon and stroked her beloved’s scales. Meleys growled low in her throat, a sign she appreciated the touch. After a few more strokes, Rhaenys headed inside. She ought to check on Corlys by now, though she doubted he had miraculously improved. Worry over his condition plagued her heart, especially knowing she had to set out for King’s Landing in a week’s time.

And while she was at it, she should check on Baela and Rhaena. Her darling granddaughters who seemed to always be responsible for the never ending bout of mischief around Driftmark.


The Gods were never kind.

They never had been, and they never would be, especially to those that they called their Messengers. Really they were nothing more than labourers tasked with the dirty work of the Gods that resided in other realms. Ones they couldn't access. But it meant that they couldn't access his own.

Not that it stopped them from torturing his mind, body and soul when he was called to their realm to receive orders. They never let him off easily, at least, not in the rest century of his life. At first, when he had accepted the job, he had been more than glad to be in their service. He was a trained killer. A lover of all things evil and sadistic. It was why he was so good at what he did. Being the assassin to the Gods he served. And he had enjoyed it. For the longest time he loved it, and truthfully, he still did. He loved the thrill, the act of taking a life, twisting the knife through flesh and bone, bringing a grin to his face almost every time, no matter the distance of the kill. It wasn't fun when, in the very few times he messed up, was too slow or didn't follow orders, he had ended up with twisted memories and far too many scars. Now he had chilling black veins across his wrists, ankles and throat to show for it.

Eurion's most recent job, his current job, was killing Corlys Velaryon.

The man was rumoured to be sick, which meant it was the perfect time for the Gods to take him out. Or well, for Eurion to take him out on behalf of the Gods. The Fae of Shadows, the Golden Killer with hair as black as night, crept in through the lower floors of the Driftmark. The shadows coated him, deeming him almost invisible to the naked eye and unless someone was looking closely, they wouldn't have spotted him. Up and up he went, avoiding servants and guards until finally, he was outside that of his victim's chambers.

Nerves weren't something he felt anymore. Sneaking inside meant nothing. His shadows whispered in his ear. They were almost a living entity itself, comforting but terrifying in their own right. The dagger at his side was unsheathed, as silent as an owl, he moved to the side of the bed.

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"Grand muñnykeā! [Grandmother!]"

Rhaenys turned at the cries and immediately smiled at the two girls rushing toward her down the hallway. "Grand riñar [Grandchildren]," she greeted them in return, kneeling and letting them rush into her arms. They hugged her, pressing against her armor and squeezing her tightly.

"lykirī! [Calm down!]" Rhaenys urged, continuing to speak in High Valyrian for a moment longer. She was surprised Baela and Rhaena had greeted her in it. They must have been keeping up well with their lessons. However, the Lady of Driftmark switched to Common a second later. "Are you going to hug me forever?" The girls giggled and only clung tighter to Rhaenys in reply. After a moment, they let her go and stepped back, their eyes alight.

"How was your flight?" Baela asked eagerly.

Rhaenys smiled. "It went well," she answered, pressing a kiss to the girl's forehead.

"When will we get to ride with you?" Rhaena chimed in.

"In good time," Rhaenys replied, kissing Rhaena's forehead too. "I'm sorry darlings, but I must go visit your grandfather."

The girls' expressions fell in an instant. "Can we come with you?" Baela asked softly. Rhaena looked hopefully up at Rhaenys. With Corlys' illness and fading health, only his wife and a nursemaid were permitted in to see him. That meant the girls hadn't seen him in what felt like ages.

Sadness dimmed the light in Rhaenys' eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmured, pressing a final kiss to each girl's hair. "Maybe next time." Baela and Rhaena's shoulders dipped, but they smiled back at her. The toll of Corlys being bedridden weighed heavily on everyone in the castle, especially Rhaenys. The girls would do anything they could to cheer her up. The attempt made Rhaenys smile weakly back at them. "Go on," Rhaenys urged gently. "Back to your lessons." They nodded and hurried off in the direction they'd come from.

Rhaenys watched them go, then took a breath and headed for the rooms she and Corlys shared. She ascended the steps and paused outside the door. Not bothering to take off her armor from her flight, Driftmark's Lady took a steadying breath, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

The room was dim. It had been kept that way to help Corlys with his resting. The dark curtains were drawn over the windows, and the only light in the room came from a soft, crackling fire in the hearth. If the fire hadn't been there, Rhaenys might not have even seen him… but it was the glint of his dagger that gave him away. There was someone else here. Someone armed and at her husband's bedside.

Immediately, Rhaenys' hand traced down her left side to lock her fingers around the hilt of her own weapon. A blade her mother had secretly gifted her as a child. She drew it easily from its sheath and approached the bed. "Qilōni issi ao? [Who are you?]" she demanded, slipping back into her second tongue of High Valyrian. The words were nearly a snarl from her lips. "Skoro syt issi ao kesīr? [Why are you here?]"


Fire and light would always be the assassin's downfall.

For a man who dealt in shadow and death, the light of it all would be the reason that he was caught. Today seemed to be that day. Of course, there was a chance that he could escape unscathed. He could use the shadows to winnow, a form of teleportation that he had mastered over the years of his life, and use them to get away and to safety. But he couldn't leave without finishing the job. If he left now he wouldn't make it out alive when it came to the Gods. He may as well simply sign his own death papers.

Eurion knew the lady of house Velaryon wasn't going to let him get away so easily, either. It helped that he had an advantage when it came to height, stature, and his magic. Did Rhaenys even have magic? He didn't think so. And at least his magic meant that he could use the mostly dark room to his advantage. Use his friends, the shadows, to stop her for long enough to kill her husband. That wasn't going to fly in anyones world, so he would have to make a quick escape once the man was dead.

The assassin toyed with the dagger in his hand. He didn't know High Valyrian. Didn't know what she was saying, but he could make a damned good guess. She may know the room, but when contemplating the odds against one another, Eurion was bound to come out on top, not unless she pulled some fucked up trick and it ended up with him dead on the floor. Maybe that would be a blessing. At least then it wouldn't be the Gods killing him, slowly, tortuously, and he hoped for a quick death.

"Get out before I kill you, too." Because even though he was hidden in the shadows, the moment that dagger plunged into Corlys' chest she would lunge for him, try to make out where he was in the dark room. He could slip away in seconds after that dagger was piercing flesh, but he had to make sure he was dead before he could leave.

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Rhaenys' grip on her weapon was white-knuckled and tense. Any sentiment of the kind woman who had hugged and dotted on her granddaughters was long gone. At her heart, this was the Targaryen she was. Exactly who she'd been trained to be – a purebred warrior. Her skill with weaponry was wide, and her eyes even darted around, looking for anything else she could use against the intruder. Her whip was still coiled at her side, hidden under her armor. It seemed to call to her, but Rhaenys kept it hidden. She never revealed her entire hand at once.

Watching him toy with his dagger infuriated her, but the rising heat of her anger was smothered by cold rage. This man had broken into her home, snuck through the halls, and made it to Corlys' bedside. What if he'd somehow run into Baela and Rhaena? The thought sent terror racing through Rhaenys' bones. There was no way anyone could be capable of such stealth. Driftmark was in danger with this man's presence. She had to get rid of him, one way or another.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she took careful steps toward him, gaining ground but not too much progress. The gods only knew what this assassin would do to Corlys if she stepped wrong. Being at her husband's side with the blade poised to strike, it was obvious which one of them had the advantage here. The flames lit her way toward the bed, and every so often the blade of his dagger caught the light. Fire and blood. It was the way of things. You could not live and die in Westeros without experiencing both elements.

"Valar morghūlis," Rhaenys replied sharply. Her blade was at the ready, and her eyes were sharp, waiting for the assassin to either falter or strike. The Lady of the Tides would not back down. "All men must die eventually."


Eurion was a dickhead, but he didn't simply kill without reason. He was contracted to the Old Gods, the ones believed to be dead and gone. He killed who they wished, and usually, that was people who had wronged them, or those deemed a threat. There were the days where he heard nothing from them and simply took up jobs wherever he could find them. Nobels, royals, high ranking military. But never children. He drew the line there, and he would never cross it. No matter the money involved, the wrath of the Gods, he would never touch a child. Even though he hadn't run into the woman's grandchildren, she didn't have to worry about him touching them.

She did have to worry about him touching her husband, however. That was the man he had been sent to kill today. There was something sadistic about his grin. As much as he was hidden behind the shadows that he controlled and loved so dearly, as much as Rhaenys couldn't see that, he had to let himself grin.

There was a reason Eurion was deemed Death Incarnate. A reason he was feared as the Golden Hunter. He was good at what he did. Damned good at it. After over a century of killing, his skill was unmatched. He had travelled a long way to kill Corlys. Sailed from his home continent to Westeros, spent days travelling to get here. He was tired, and needed a fucking strong drink, but he couldn't do either of those things until the man was dead. If he was smart, he would have come back another day when he wasn't interrupted. But pride would be his downfall just as much as light would.

"Today that starts with your husband." He countered. Fear didn't penetrate him. He never got scared on missions. Never feared the consequences of being caught. He didn't care enough to fear death when he was Death's Hand to begin with. It didn't help that he had lived too long of a life.

When Rhaenys took steps towards him, Eurion tilted his head to one side. Dark eyes flashed darker, if at all possible, and tendrils of shadow crept from their corners and towards the feet of the woman standing across from him.

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Rhaenys thought for a moment about calling Meleys. Then quickly decided what a horrible idea that would be. Though her mount was entirely loved by the Lady of Driftmark, she knew summoning Meleys would only lead to destruction and rubble. Exactly what she was trying to prevent by keeping the assassin away from Corlys.

She inhaled sharply at his counter. He knew. He knew who she was, though the room was draped in darkness. The fire aided her visibility, as did some random streams of light between curtains. She swallowed heavily and stopped a few feet away from the bed.

"That's where you're wrong," she replied sharply, switching entirely to Common now. As intimidating and intricate as the High Valyrian language was, right now, Rhaenys simply needed to be understood. "Today it starts with you." The Targaryen princess was entirely unaware of the shadows approaching her. The only thing she cared about was keeping her eyes locked on the stranger.

It was time for her to act before Corlys suffered from her indecision. Her fingers adjusted their grip slightly on the hilt of her blade, and with warrior-like precision, she threw her dagger at the assassin's chest. She'd already lost both of her children. Rhaenys would not lose her husband too.


If today started with him the least Eurion could do was finish the job that he set out to do. That way in death, if he had to face one of his patrons again, he could say that he went down victorious and with a fight, rather than simply giving in to the woman in front of him. Maybe he could tease a bit if he had the opportunity. That was risky. He shouldn't stick around. Kill and get out was usually his plan, but he was toying that line today simply because he was feeling interested in doing so.

The second that Rhaeys' threw her dagger at Eurion he moved. He dodged, twisting his body so the dagger flew right past him and into the wall behind, clanging off the stone and rattling onto the floor. Moments later his own dagger was moving, piercing right down into Corlys' heart. He twisted, blood spurted across his hands and dagger. His grin never faltered. He didn't fail. He never failed. At least now if he died getting out he had something to return to the Gods with. Good news.

"Nice try, Princess." The tendrils of shadow wrapped around Rhaenys' ankles and tightened, snaking up her legs and holding her in place. Her husband was dying on the bed and there was nothing that she could do about it. He was dead already, Eurionw as simply just… speeding up the process. Nothing wrong with that. Death was only a natural cycle of life. Angel of Death, Death's Hand, Death Incarnate. All titles that Eurion wore with pride. He definitely lived up to the name, that was for sure.

"Maybe increase your security?" He suggested, grabbing at a cloth tucked away in his hidden pockets to wipe the dagger clean of blood. Cocky.

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Rhaenys’ eyes widened as she watched his inhuman grace at work. He dodged her dagger much too smoothly then turned the motion into his own dagger’s work. She watched in horror as the blade stabbed down into Corlys’ heart. Something primal tore loose in her, and she leaped at him, throwing herself across the bed to take down her husband’s killer.

But… none of that happened. She was stuck where she was. Though she struggled against it, a realization came to her mind that there was some type of source restricting her legs. She couldn’t move. She could only watch as the dagger twisted. It felt as though the weapon had pierced her body too. In one swift motion, she’d been made a widow. A childless widow.

Rhaenys sunk to her knees uncontrollably and cried out in agony. Sobs broke through her cries, and she trembled with the weight of the loss. It was too much. No one deserved to ever loose this much. Laena, Laenor, Corlys… and though she’d made peace and come to terms with being passed over for the Iron Throne, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would have been spared all this pain had she been queen. Rhaenys Targaryen. The Queen Who Never Was. Destined for loneliness and despair, one heart break after another. She had nothing left to give the world.

Her hands gripped her own hair, distraught beyond belief. Then his sneer of her title. Rhaenys looked up at him, glaring amidst her tears. “You,” she hissed, “will regret that.” Her eyes narrowed further as he made the casual suggestion. If only she could move toward him… but she had absolutely no idea what was holding her back.


Maybe he should feel bad for taking the life of someone's lover right in front of them. Maybe. But Eurion was far too gone when it came to his minds work, when it came to death and killing, that it didn't bother him. He didn't know these people. Fuck, he didn't even know this land. This wasn't his home, these weren't his people. He wasn't even of the same race. Why should he care? Life had thrown him a shitty hand over the years, and with each death, he remained safe in his own little bubble of the world. He lived another day. He earned his keep of coin and gold, most nights he had a roof over his head in whatever shitty tavern he could find. Surviving.

"It's not personal," Eurion replied, still standing in the shadows. The fire flickered across the now-warm metal of one of his many daggers. Cleaned to perfection. He sheathed it back into its place by his side, "Unfortunately, the Gods wanted him dead. I am simply the messenger. Sorry for any inconvenience."

Inconvenience. That the death of her husband was nothing more than someone spilling milk across the table, or a cancellation of a meeting with high nobles. It was clear how the assassin viewed the situation, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Finally, he moved out of the shadows.

When he did, the full stature and height of the assassin was revealed. Bound in soft leather and straps that had many concealed daggers hidden away with a cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The hood was pulled over his face and the lower half was covered by the same, dark blue fabric of the cape. Everything but his eyes was covered. Eurion's smile was still chilling underneath the fabric, but he didn't remove it to reveal that to the grieving widow. Instead, he knelt down in front of her, just slightly out of her and tilted his head, "I never regret a kill." He replied. The cockiness of his attitude had his shadows faltering without him noticing.

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All resistance seemed to leave Rhaenys’ body. It wasn’t smart, and she’d been trained to be better than that, but she couldn’t help it. Her head dipped down, as if her chin was pulled by a magnet to her chest, and her shoulders dropped. Her trembling hands fell in her lap. Curtains of her long, white hair framed her face.

Any sort of joy from her ride with Meleys or seeing her bubbly granddaughters had gone. It was overshadowed immediately by the tragedy that had befallen Corlys. And she still had to make the trip to King’s Landing in a week. There, she would have to explain that Corlys’ illness had indeed overtaken him and the Sea Snake, the Lord of the Tides, was now dead.

She finally lifted her face to glare at him. “The gods,” she spat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband may have been ill, but he was healing.” Slowly. Painfully slowly, but there had been progress before everything had come to a grinding halt. Until this stranger had buried his blade in her husband’s chest and made an enemy out of Rhaenys Targaryen.

Her eyes watched him as he moved from the shadows. Immediately, his strong figure was revealed in the firelight. But the only think Rhaenys could see on his face was his eyes. Black eyes. Of course. He lowered himself to her level and tilted his head to the side. Rhaenys’ lips twitched into a sneer at his words.

“Skorī dēmalȳti tymptir tymis, ērinis iā morghūlis,” she said slowly, reverting to a common phrase in High Valyrian. It was spoken around the entirety of Westeros as a common, ominous saying. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die." Rhaenys took deep breaths, though her face was still tear-streaked and her body still trembled. “You are playing too hard,” she snarled. “You will die.”

Rhaenys gripped the hilt of her whip, which she’d been subtly inching her fingers toward, and pulled it from its hidden coil at her side. Habitually, her fingers slipped into little grooves etched into the whip's handle. In a fluid, practiced motion, she flicked her arm, flawlessly manipulating her elbow and wrist to the whip snapped cleanly in the air. Her precision and skill aimed the weapon for the assassin’s face.


Eurion didn't know anything about the continent, the world he currently walked upon. He knew nothing of their ways or culture, the way they ruled the plains of their land. Just as he knew nothing of Rhaenys' world, she knew nothing of his own. Didn't know how the Gods that he spoke of were very real and bore down on him with every waking second. How he could feel their presence with every step he took, every breath. How he had physical reminders and marks under his clothing to show that the magic they possessed was growing with every second, only deeming strength with every kill he made.

She didn't know that if he hadn't completed the mission he had been set they would have sent someone else. They would have tortured him, and sent someone to kill the Lord of Tides who they deemed was 'better' at killing. Not that there were any, Eurion was the best that there was but failing the Old Gods? There would have been nothing left for him. Not that he had much, anyways, but the little he did have, he wanted to keep. Especially the memories of the very few friends that were still intact. The rest of his memories were no more than twisted lies, ones he couldn't understand whether they were real or fake, and over his life, had slowly come to believe.

Game of Thrones? What was she on about? Eurion had no clue and was ready to question her about it when he was met with the force of a sharp sting against his cheek. Another weapon. Cockiness was another flaw that would lead to his downfall. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps today was the day he died. The shadows fell from around Rhaenys' legs, slinking back to the depths of the world where they had once resided. He could feel them in his ear, whispering, telling him to move, get out of there. Telling him how stupid he was for toying with a grieving, angry woman when he could have been long gone by now.

The whip was brought down hard against his skin, and the shock and the force sent him reeling backwards. He straightened, but there was no hope, he was wobbly on his feet as he stumbled back. His hand reached up to grab at his cheek, to feel the raised mark that was now there. The impact had lowered the bottom half of the fabric wrapped around his face, and his sharp, fang-like canines came into full view with his snarl.

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Rhaenys had never been willingly ignorant before, but her anger took control of her body and her words. Maybe whatever gods he served were true and wicked. Maybe they really had wanted her husband dead. Maybe they had gotten exactly what they’d wished for.

But Rhaenys hadn’t. She’d suffered nearly every day of her existence. Her marriage to Corlys had been strong and powerful. The Lord and Lady of Driftmark were envied by many. They dressed in their wealth and were as close as a husband and wife could be. Even so, there had still been many praying on the downfall of House Velaryon. The death of Corlys would only further their hopes. But Rhaenys refused to let her husband’s house fall to ruin. She had loved him more than life.

Her lips curled in a satisfied smirk as her whip struck true. It was a faithful weapon, designed exactly to her liking, and she’d trained with it for year upon years since she was a child. The red leather had also been made specifically for her, and she wielded the weapon with pride in her father’s house.

Suddenly, whatever was holding her back disappeared. Rhaenys felt the presence that clung to her legs fade away until she could move freely again. And her vengeful gaze fell on the assassin. He would pay for what he’d done. Rhaenys would make him regret ever setting foot in Driftmark’s castle.

As he staggered back, Rhaenys shoved herself to her feet. She unsheathed her second and final dagger from beside where the first one had been kept. It was common Westeros to travel with a variety of concealed weaponry. Rhaenys was no exception.

She blinked, eyes widening as her eyes locked on what she assumed were fangs. Removing the cover of his face had not been her intention with the strike, but she didn’t mind that so much. And the sharpness of his canines did not deter Rhaenys. She only charged at him, aiming to tackle him to the ground and poise he dagger above him. Let him get a taste of his own medicine before she plunged the blade deep in his chest, avenging her husband’s murder.


Being Fae gave Eurion an advantage, regardless of the fact that he was still reeling from the attack. He was faster than most, swift on his feet, made easier by the shadows that he could control. Maybe in another life when he wasn't a killer he could have some called ethereal. In the right lighting he probably was. Moonlight and starshine in a walking vessel. But he wasn't. He was a killer. A danger. A murderer and a criminal. Nothing he could do or say would change that now.

He had taken the life of her loved one. Her anger was justified. If he had the chance to explain his situation maybe she would have been able to understand why he had to die. That he really didn't have any issues with them - fuck, he barely knew of them until he had been tasked with killing Corlys - it was the Old Gods of his world that had it out for them. The Fae assassin was only doing what he did best, following orders. There was a tugging at the back of his mind, one he knew all too well. The Gods knew he had completed his mission. It was up to him to get himself out of that situation, not them, but at least they were aware that he had completed the task that they had given him. That was a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Right now he had to focus on getting out. Getting away. Rhaenys lunged at him and Eurion used his shadows to winnow out of the way. With the shock of it all, he could only go so far. It didn't help that it took immense energy to do so. There were only so many times he would be able to do that until he became too tired and weak. And he had to save his energy for escaping. If only he could get out of that room.

THe window was too high from the ground to jump, he wasn't about to scale, and Rhaenys was in the way of the door. He would have to fight her, but at this rate, the anger of the woman was starting to grow into would be likely become a fight turned in her favour. Recklessness might be her downfall, though. Instead of stopping to think all she was doing was attacking without thought.

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Even through her anger, Rhaenys couldn't help but wonder why Corlys had been the target of the assassin. If it was indeed "the Gods" that wanted her husband dead, there had to have been a reason why. Would she be next? Laena and Laenor were already dead… What about Baela? Rhaena? The thought of her granddaughters on some wicked god's kill list made her even angrier. She would fight tooth and nail for those girls. Even if it ultimately ended in her death, she would gladly sacrifice herself so Baela and Rhaena could grow up without any worry of looming death over their lives.

She gripped the hilt of her dagger tighter, prepared to run him through. Well, sort of. As long as the blade made initial contact, she would be satisfied. He wasn't moving out of the way. Did he really wish for death at her hands? Rhaenys wasn't a simpering woman. This man had murdered Corlys in cold blood. She would make his ending brutal and not bat an eyelash.

But before she reached him, he disappeared. Rhaenys halted and whirled around. There he was, standing across the room and fully intact. She inhaled sharply and straightened. This man possessed a set of magical abilities. He was not a human. Perhaps that was how he had subdued her legs so she couldn't move before.

With her dagger transitioning over to her left hand and the whip clutched tightly in her right, Rhaenys looked intimidating. Her hair fell around her face, mostly out of the way thanks to the braids she'd tied it up in for her ride with Meleys. It was windblown and slightly disheveled, but half of it was up and out of her face. That was all she needed. Though she did pause for a heartbeat to rethink her strategy. If he had magic, surely he would use it against her. She had to be careful about his abilities.

Rhaenys stalked toward him, wielding her dagger expertly. She was beyond furious now and fully convinced this man needed to die. If only he would let her do the honor instead of fleeing from her blade like a coward.


Eurion wasn't a coward. He simply valued his life when it came to battle. The man knew that he deserved to die more than a hundred times over. Considering the amount of blood on his hands he certainly didn't deserve an honourable death, but he did deserve death itself.

Maybe today should be that day. He'd just killed a man in front of his wife. She had every right to be mad and want him dead.

There wasn't any backing out of this. He had to fight or flee. Fleeing would mean he got to live another day, live to see another death on his hands. Fighting could either result in the death of the Lady of the Tides, as well as her Lord. Reuniting them in death might be the good thing to do. At least she would be happy then, right? Surely, if she loved that man so much then she would delight in being with him once more.

On lack of sleep, Eurion didn't know if he had it in him to put up much of a fight. He didn't attack again, but he didn't run. He stayed standing by the window on the other side of the room. Falling to his death wasn't exactly the way he wanted to go, but it was an option. Less honourable than that of the blade of the woman he had just invoked the wrath of. He pulled out his daggers, flipping them in both hands as he readied for an attack. It never came.

Instead, she simply stalked towards him. He didn't move. She kept walking. He still didn't move. Metal was cold in his hands as he weighed the blades he had used for years. Too many years. Fuck, he was tired. Getting away from the Gods would also be a blessing… why not just offer himself up? Not a very enjoyable death for her though. Although, that might just stop her from killing him? Eurion didn't particularly know what to think anymore.

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Rhaenys had no idea of the man's background. She still doubted his gods to be real. But if he possessed magic… He wasn't from Westeros. That much was clear to her now.

She noticed how close he was to the window. If he chose to jump, she could just as easily summon Meleys to her aid. The command perched itself on her lips, almost waiting for him to evade her and take the easier way out. But he didn't make a move toward it. In fact, he stood plainly still as she approached.

The furious woman stopped a few steps away from him and reigned in her breathing. She needed to control it. Control herself. Rage funneling uncontrolled through her body was so unlike her. Naturally, she was an even-tempered woman. Calm and collected, especially in public.

Her gaze settled on his daggers. He looked ready to fight her, but he made no move toward her. Clearly, he was unmotivated to defend himself, at least for the moment. Strange how he'd been so taunting earlier, and now it almost appeared his life was in her hands. But Rhaenys knew better than to believe that. There was some reason he wasn't attacking her. Whether it be fatigue or surrender, that was yet to be seen.

Slowly, Rhaenys raised her arm and pointed her blade at him, the tip aimed toward his throat. If the moment came, she would not hesitate to kill him. Her eyes narrowed as she spoke coldly. "Why did you murder my husband?"


Eurion would have rather a death at the hands of Rhaenys than that of either falling to his death or one at the hand of his Gods. The Gods would torture him slowly, painfully. Twist his mind even more so than they already had and cause him to break, little by little, until there was nothing left of his mind to return to its physical form. At least here, with the princess, his mind and body would die together.

Going down without a fight wasn't honourable. Cowardly, pitiful. After all the blood on his hands from over the years it was probably what he deserved. Eurion didn't know what to believe anymore, not when his mind was so fucked from years of torment.

If he was honest with Rhaenys about why he murdered Corlys, he doubted she would believe him. He had already tried to explain that it wasn't personal, it wasn't him or fuck, anyone on Westeros that wanted him dead, it was his patrons from another world. Ridiculous. It sounded crazy, even to him. No doubt if he said it out loud once more she wouldn't believe him. But it was the truth.

Eurion didn't move, but his grip on his daggers tightened just a fraction, "The Gods, the Old Gods. My… overseers, wanted him dead," His words were slow, and his eyes were just as narrowed on her as hers were on him, "I am their messenger. I am sent where they desire and kill who they need gone. I don't know why, I can never ask why. I just have to kill."

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If Rhaenys was smart, she’d lunge now. Let the sharpness of her blade slice right through his neck until he bled over the floor and died. Or perhaps, stab him in the heart and twist mercilessly as he’d done to Corlys. But she didn’t move. Her weapon remained poised midair, but she did not strike with it. There was something she needed from him first. Closure.

Rhaenys still watched him carefully. Every little tense in his body, every micro expression that flitted across his face… she noted them all. This was not the demeanor of a man who was running from death. He was embracing it. Rhaenys refused to let her guard down though. This man was stealthy and wicked. He might just be biding his time, waiting for her to relax just the tiniest bit before striking his own killing blow.

So she definitely noticed the tighter grip on his daggers. It almost distracted her from his words. But Rhaenys listened. Her eyes narrowed, and despite the rage burning in her, a chill of sadness swept through it an extinguished most of her flames. She breathed heavily and kept her dagger aimed at him, but a betraying tear slid down her cheek.

“What had he done to deserve their wrath?” she asked shakily. “Why him? There are plenty of people in this world move wicked than Corlys.” Her voice hardened again. She repeated, more focused on her husband’s death mark than the man’s job to kill whoever he was commanded to. “Why him?”


With every moment that Rhaenys didn't speak, Eurion was contemplating his next moves. He could have easily attacked, but he continued to stay as still as stone. He wasn't going to risk it. Death would be welcoming and would free him from years of anguish, and maybe in death, he would finally be in his right mind again. But the assassin wasn't going to risk it, not for the time being.

"I don't know." He replied. Eurion couldn't help the soft shake of his head, "If I knew, I would tell you, but I don't. I'm sorry."

The last time he had asked why he had to kill someone it had resulted in hours of physical torment. He had come out of the experience not knowing where he was, even who he was for a short time. His body had been wrecked and through hell, under a tree in the middle of nowhere. It was one of the first times that he had ever been on the other end of their wrath, and for a time he had contemplated ending it all right in that moment.

It was the only time he had ever asked and questioned them. Eurion hadn't made that mistake again. Not for anyone. Even though he had been curious and concerned that his patrons had wanted to send him to another continent for a kill, he hadn't asked. He couldn't. Considering the Gods punished him for every small mistake that he made, a fuck up like that again would no doubt end him.