( Perhaps such reminders would serve them well; or fall on deaf ears. It has been enlightening to watch Elrond's perspective, at times. To know that even his adamantine patience wears thin. Easy thoughts do not follow — instead, she wonders if it will ever wear so thin it will break. It is not in his character as much as in her anxieties, those weaker moments fueled entirely by culminated frustrations. (She knows, at some degree, that it is a fault of her own, too. The fractured remnants of her friendship with the Queen Consort laid out the foundation of the relationship between her half-siblings — or rather the complete lack thereof, but she cannot bring herself to try and mend it all. They are all guilty of being stuck in their stubborn ways.)
And still, it has taken an outside perspective looking in to have Rhaenyra realizing how messy things have truly gotten. The thought goes unvoiced, but she has to wonder, at times — this will not settle with her ascension, should it even be allowed to occur. Petty quarrels bleed longest.
But — to lighter matters at hand. Especially now, it feels akin to chasing the sun. As they walk the halls — blissfully away from higher emotion, higher tension (and thus, history rewritten), it's easier to ease her shoulders, the tension of her arm lessening, sliding instead to thread her fingers through his as she listens.
My home is with you he says and no matter how many times he speaks of such things, or passes small compliments, it is said so wholly it always catches her breath. But she has an end. A startling thought, though not entirely irrelevant, given the funeral at their backs. She cannot bring herself to ask where he intends on going after her death (or if their children will follow, because that is a conversation that hangs closer and closer as Viserys' strength wanes and his needling persists). That isn't how she wants their adventure to begin.
There's a hum, thoughtful. ) It has been your home for far longer than we've known one another. I do not blame your sentiment. To some degree, I even hope I understand it. ( Targaryens held a history lost to flame; many of them had yearned for a return to something that was no longer there. She saw it in Daemon, at least. She saw it in how they held their traditions, their tongue. It isn't the exact same, she knows that too. ) I'm happy you want to share such things.
( He has had a life without her for far longer; and for far longer, gods willing, will he have it beyond her. Middle Earth had served as his home through it all and despite his absolute devotion, is this political union not a short breath when held up to the year before and to follow?
It is a benefit to them, that the elven alliance (in whatever capacity it was) was one of high privacy. Hardly any could claim to know elven nature, and that Gil-galad was unlikely to send any contingent to march for them was not an assumption many would know of, regardless. That, she hoped, would need to be enough.
Before long, the worry of what they left will be replaced by the thrill of the journey, the wonder of things she's yet to see. An adventure to a world not even Daemon had ventured to, to think! All for them, to quell a dragon's hunger.
She smiles, and it wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. ) I am, yes. Very much so. I've no marriage to be rush to, ( said with love. )
Admittedly, I was thinking of gifts. I could not very well come empty handed.
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And still, it has taken an outside perspective looking in to have Rhaenyra realizing how messy things have truly gotten. The thought goes unvoiced, but she has to wonder, at times — this will not settle with her ascension, should it even be allowed to occur. Petty quarrels bleed longest.
But — to lighter matters at hand. Especially now, it feels akin to chasing the sun. As they walk the halls — blissfully away from higher emotion, higher tension (and thus, history rewritten), it's easier to ease her shoulders, the tension of her arm lessening, sliding instead to thread her fingers through his as she listens.
My home is with you he says and no matter how many times he speaks of such things, or passes small compliments, it is said so wholly it always catches her breath. But she has an end. A startling thought, though not entirely irrelevant, given the funeral at their backs. She cannot bring herself to ask where he intends on going after her death (or if their children will follow, because that is a conversation that hangs closer and closer as Viserys' strength wanes and his needling persists). That isn't how she wants their adventure to begin.
There's a hum, thoughtful. ) It has been your home for far longer than we've known one another. I do not blame your sentiment. To some degree, I even hope I understand it. ( Targaryens held a history lost to flame; many of them had yearned for a return to something that was no longer there. She saw it in Daemon, at least. She saw it in how they held their traditions, their tongue. It isn't the exact same, she knows that too. ) I'm happy you want to share such things.
( He has had a life without her for far longer; and for far longer, gods willing, will he have it beyond her. Middle Earth had served as his home through it all and despite his absolute devotion, is this political union not a short breath when held up to the year before and to follow?
It is a benefit to them, that the elven alliance (in whatever capacity it was) was one of high privacy. Hardly any could claim to know elven nature, and that Gil-galad was unlikely to send any contingent to march for them was not an assumption many would know of, regardless. That, she hoped, would need to be enough.
Before long, the worry of what they left will be replaced by the thrill of the journey, the wonder of things she's yet to see. An adventure to a world not even Daemon had ventured to, to think! All for them, to quell a dragon's hunger.
She smiles, and it wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. ) I am, yes. Very much so. I've no marriage to be rush to, ( said with love. )
Admittedly, I was thinking of gifts. I could not very well come empty handed.