the way you kiss me will work each time // Chryseis

[Rhaegor]

and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time
calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind

Just as she had not considered the possibility that he might have wandering eyes, he had not considered the fact that his actions would hurt her feelings so gravely. That being said, both of those things are his fault entirely, and in the time that he's been away from her and from everyone, he's come to realize that. The strangest thing, really; that with the dawning of the plague and his acquiring of it, the speed of his maturation has increased exponentially. Though he comes now only to his second year, he feels ancient: as if the weight of the world resides on his shoulders... But that might be because of the ceaseless joint pain that he has yet to seek healing for.

He rounds a corner, and suddenly, she is there - caught on the top of a cliff with the wind bringing her mane to perfectly frame her elegant face, the newly developed curves of her figure as breath taking as the smile he had seen before but fears he will never see again. Chryseis stops the moment she sees him. Rhaegor does the same. So many different parts of him clamor in his mind, some wanting to run to her, others to fall at her hooves and beg, others to turn and not face the humiliation and pain that is sure to be borne of this interaction. But the prince quiets each of these voices in turn, choosing instead to simply stand, head held neither high nor low, but instead exactly as it was when she found him. The wind blows in his face, too, but it is not elegant nor framing; the wisps of his forelock case his eyes, their dark threads lending his usually bright countenance an edge, and a depth.

When she moves, his breath catches in his chest. The dark length of his wings squeeze closer to his lanky body, an attempt to keep them from shuddering with what might be exultation or terror; he can't decide which. Chryseis walks with a sway that demands the attention of all around, but the only one around is him: and so he gives her his entire attention, eyes tracing the fluidity of her step and the grace in her topline as her shoulders rotate; his ears perk as if the strain might bring forth words from her lips, words he so desperately wants.

(You should not have to beg for a woman to love you).
I hurt her.
(Princes do not beg. You are a humiliation; a lesser man; not a man at all).
So be it.

Rhaegor. She says her name and it rings hollow, or, more accurately, as if it is filled to the brim with ash. Where once the warm flame of a tentative love had been growing, now only the ruins of his own making remained; he wonders if there is anything left to rekindle their friendship. He can do without her love: but he cannot do without her forgiveness, and her acceptance. He tries to communicate this as she stands there before him, frosty and guarded; through the threads of his forelock which tangle around his eyes, he tries to communicate this.

Why are you here?

A sharp, ambiguous laugh cuts from his lips, the sound a fast and heavy exhale; his lips don't turn up, but it's not really funny, either.

(Cripple).

The prince lowers his eyes, inhales as if that would ever give him the ability to speak, and looks up again. His forelock still conceals him. Her still frames her, captures her beauty. Rhae wonders if it's a metaphor for something; but a moment later, he realizes that it's just not that fucking deep.

He had inhaled too deeply; in the next moment, a vicious hacking cough consumes him, his chin curling to his chest as his eyes squeeze shut. It lasts longer than a normal cough should. Longer than a cough from a cold should. And when he blinks his eyes opens and strains to find her with them once more, a fine spattering of blood covers his shoulders, and smears delicately across the pink of his lips.

Rhaegor

@[Chryseis]