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Larys did not know how much longer he had. An hour, at most, he thought. He no longer wished for a last minute pardon as he dragged his abomination of a foot aimlessly around his cell. It was painful to pace but that's all he could do. He had no desire to sleep but strangely, he had a desire to pray to the Gods.
Old or New, it no longer mattered, for they had damned him the moment he had screamed his way into the world.
He had heard his foot had been mistaken for a part of the after-birth. He wished that had been the case.
***
Larys would've knelt down to pray had he been formed normally so he instead sat on his bed and shut his eyes, his body facing the dirtied wall in front of him.
It was then he felt a familiar presence before him, except it felt colder.
***
The former Master of Whisperers opened his eyes and was met with the sight of his great uncle, Simon. Killed a year prior by that one eyed sadist of a Prince.
"Nephew," he said. His tone wasn't the welcoming one he had grown up with. It was reserved. It sounded foreign and felt disgusting on the ears. Just like how Larys was on the eyes of many. "How are you feeling?"
"I am content with death. I have dragged myself through enough halls."
Simon stiffened slightly. "You were always strong-willed."
Larys smiled and glanced down at his feet, greeted by his source of agony.
"Do you hate me?" his uncle asked.
"I still love you. Oddly."
His uncle's eyes widened slightly. It looked comical. Definitely not the look he was intending.
"I don't know why that should surprise you, Uncle. You were always kind to me."
"Yes—"
"But I'm a monster. You have no need to say what I know," he paused. "I heard you disowned me when you sat and had supper with Daemon Targaryen upon his arrival to Harrenhal. I don't believe that's all you had with him."
"I- um.."
Larys shifted on the bed slightly. "Was he kind to you?"
Simon nodded. "I was his treasure then he lost me to Harrenhal."
His uncle was always prone to sentimentality, even when describing death. It made him feel ill. No wonder he hadn't survived the Dance.
"If it brings you any solace, I heard he was never quite the same afterwards. It would explain why he supposedly leapt from Caraxes after he had killed Prince Aemond in their fight above the God's Eye."
"My Daemon.."
"Did you not know?"
"No," the old man's breathing pattern had shifted to one of a person who was trying not to cry. "His soul hasn't found mine."
"They didn't give him a proper Targaryen burial. His body was never recovered."
"I'm relieved I died before him, then. I could not have coped without him."
***
After a few beats of silence, Larys spoke once more.
"You should be relieved regardless. You wished for death every morning I knew you. I learnt much about the futileness of life from you. Now it is me who longs for the mercy of death and you have been granted your life's desire. Yet I learned to thrive from you. Is that not ironic? I learnt how to survive from a man who wanted to do anything but that?"
"Do they feed you?" Simon asked.
"Yes. I have taken to my old habits, though."
"I did too. Before my death."
"I had not been informed of it reoccurring, Uncle. It always concerned me that would be the thing to kill you. Perhaps it would have been kinder."
Simon drew back as he saw Larys smile once more.
"Forgive me for my forgetfulness until now but why have I been sent your ghost instead of my father and brother's?"
"They do not know what you did. A ghost only materialises if they were not buried properly or know who killed them."
"I shall take that as a mercy."
"You have taken everything a person could name. Mercy shouldn't be yours too."
"Well, you took one thing I never had."
Simon grimaced at the innuendo. "Don't be disgusting."
"I was born it."
"No," his uncle's voice broke slightly. "You were a beautiful babe, Larys. I wept when I held you. I did not know what else to do."
"Did my mother ever hold me as a babe?"
Simon shook his head. "No, she gave you to me. She and your father thought you to be hideous but I never did. You were mine. I swore to you that I would always love you and I did. I never stopped seeing that boy who used to watch me paint, even after all you had done, after all you put me through. I remember when I rocked you, I used to call you one of the few endearments I could speak in High Valyrian—"
Larys cut him off. The memories were tormenting him. "And that was?"
"Qēlītsos. Little star. You brightened my world." said Simon.
He stepped closer and Larys felt a coldness upon his cheek.
"I'm sorry you turned out the way you did." "Your nature did not bloom a great evil. The Gods needed a Whisperer. You were a good man."
"I tried to be."
"Can ghosts weep?"
"I long to do so. It would free me of what I carried to the grave, even if it makes little difference to my current state."
"I admire your will and revile your weakness. You would gorge and gorge and gorge until your body gave out and I had to clean up the aftermath. I did blame you for the fire when asked, save for the former Queen Dowager. I must apologise for that. It was to save face."
"I should hate you."
"Quite."
"You will rot for what you've done, Nephew. Even if it is painful for me to say it, it's the truth."
"I have rotted my whole life. It will bring me clarity."
He paused again.
"Tell me, will I come back as a ghost because I know those who have passed judgement on my death?"
Simon moved back and shook his head. "No. They condemned you but I don't think any of them will be the sword-wielder."
"The House dies with me."
"In terms of legitimacy, yes."
Alys. How could he forget Alys? His aunt was a strange woman and the Gods only knew where she was now for he hadn't seen her since he'd left that cursed castle long before the war.
"Goodnight, Qēlītsos. May your eyes never open once more to wreak havoc upon the living with your webs."
At that, Simon disappeared and Larys was alone once more.
It was then that he saw the guards approach his cell. This was it. He was about to die but he did not care. He was in agony and he was starving. He would die the way the Gods would expect of a religious man.
In pain and starved.
***
After he was led out, he asked his executioner, Lord Cregan Stark, to cut off his foot upon his demise.
He could've sworn he saw a brief glimpse of his father and brother as the sword was about to strike his neck.
It wasn't until that very moment that Larys fully realised he too would become a ghost.
Uncle Simon would never forgive him for that.