By her own hand. It seems whatever death took her has returned her with a strange affliction.
[ Because of course Daemon does not imagine that Alicent would have any kind of strength of her own, no real ability to harm him on her own merit. The physical change in her, the ability to use flames, to burn his hair and cast him down, leave him bruised and broken - no, she is not capable of such things. She is frail, and irritating, and more self-righteous than she has any right to be, but she is not strong in stature.
Leaning into her touch, relaxing ever so slightly from the sweetness of her fingers against his skin, Daemon shakes his head. ]
I will find a healer later. I am tended to well enough, and my arm will settle.
[ The sling that Aemond had made would suit for now, until he has washed the strange discomfort and shame from his body and laid with his wife a little, to ease some of the rage and fury that ignites in him. Daemon is not a calm man, but he knows better - he cannot go and slaughter Alicent Hightower and risk their truce, for the sake of Rhaenyra and Jace both. Even if he were to try, she would simply return, perhaps stronger than before.
Lifting his head, he leans in, kissing her jaw, her palm, anything he can reach. ]
She cares not for our truce, but I do not intend to break it. I gave you my word, my love. My vows are yours and yours alone.
no subject
[ Because of course Daemon does not imagine that Alicent would have any kind of strength of her own, no real ability to harm him on her own merit. The physical change in her, the ability to use flames, to burn his hair and cast him down, leave him bruised and broken - no, she is not capable of such things. She is frail, and irritating, and more self-righteous than she has any right to be, but she is not strong in stature.
Leaning into her touch, relaxing ever so slightly from the sweetness of her fingers against his skin, Daemon shakes his head. ]
I will find a healer later. I am tended to well enough, and my arm will settle.
[ The sling that Aemond had made would suit for now, until he has washed the strange discomfort and shame from his body and laid with his wife a little, to ease some of the rage and fury that ignites in him. Daemon is not a calm man, but he knows better - he cannot go and slaughter Alicent Hightower and risk their truce, for the sake of Rhaenyra and Jace both. Even if he were to try, she would simply return, perhaps stronger than before.
Lifting his head, he leans in, kissing her jaw, her palm, anything he can reach. ]
She cares not for our truce, but I do not intend to break it. I gave you my word, my love. My vows are yours and yours alone.