[ lady greer. his poise holds from years of practice standing steady at ash's side like he hadn't just been on his knees in some polished bathroom and spent the last thirty seconds frantically checking his clothes so he wouldn't walk into some important diplomat covered in semen. it hurts bad enough to think of ash when he knows exactly what grief does to him, has seen him broken and dragging, a hollow shell on the campaign trail after jenny's death. that greer would mourn him at all after ghosting her in chicago all those years ago fills him with shards of guilt.

his throat bobs in a swallow beneath her touch, almost a little shamed that he hadn't mentioned her to alicent. she knows nearly everything else — more than most, now, because not even ash or greer know about abilene, and he plans to keep it that way. how could he possibly tell her greer her cousin is a psychopath and he dreams blissfully of her death? ]

If you didn't ask about her underwear, then yeah, you didn't do it right. [ he pries her hand from his throat and instead twines their fingers together, careful of her bandaged hands. ] She's Ash's girl. But we have a lot in common.

[ including being fucking obsessed with the same person, and each other, but the details feel too complicated for his recently resurrected brain to even attempt to explain. it feels good to just sit in his room with alicent, who's seen his ridiculous and ugly parts, and still somehow finds it in her to be grateful that he's alive. ]

Did someone hurt you? [ his thumb skids her knuckles, his eyes sharpening with reckless confrontation, an old habit from his younger days that he's yet to outgrow. ] Looks painful.