Solace

Damon hadn’t set foot on Rhaenys’ Hill since Persion arrived, quite deliberately. He would have been content to die without ever entering the great domed structure he had so carefully commissioned, but when Danae did not return to the keep by nightfall he abandoned his resolution, trading that resolve for an unassuming traveler’s cloak.

The hill and its monument rose up over the slums of the city, once as an eyesore equal to its surroundings but now strangely out of place above the dilapidated quarter known as Flea Bottom. Damon rode with his hood up past men throwing dice in the streets, and women leaning in the doorways of brothels, calling out their offers of company to anyone within earshot.

Ser Ryman and Ser Quentyn too traded their whites for plainer wear. Perhaps their measures were unnecessary, but with no spymaster, Damon was unwilling to take chances. Ser Stafford was right. Flea Bottom was not Seafield. King’s Landing was not Lannisport.

The Dragonpit was eerily silent. Even the guards within were still, and never had Damon seen any soldier more alert. I would be too, he realized as he walked slowly down the lonesome hallway, if I had to share these walls with a monster.

Danae sat with her knees to her chest just within the main entryway to the arena, at the top of the stairs that led down into the sandy pit, with her back to him. Only the torch nearest her was lit, shrouding the rest of the arena in darkness.

He considered sitting down beside her, but unable to see what lay in the shadows decided it was safer to remain where he was. He stood watching her for a moment, so small in the great expanse of the arena, until she looked over her shoulder to see who had arrived. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a single braid hanging among waves of silver, and Damon smiled weakly.

“I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost,” he said quietly. “I was thinking of forming a search party.”

/r/GameofThronesRP Thread