( it does not take long for the first strike to come; they are allowed some peace for only a handful of short months, and she supposes she ought to be grateful to have gotten even that much, scraps dressed as luxury.
she had no expectation of this being a simple, easy thing but perhaps a part of her had hoped it would have pacified those around them for a longer time. long enough for her to feel more certain in her own footing, in what this would become between her and elrond. some part even entertained the thought of them being happy. while there was understanding between them, laid out as impressive foundations — and likely it alone kept her concerns at bay — there was still so many things to find out, to establish. all that was needed was time.
but, the court loves gossip, and otto hightower is a proficient player in pulling the necessary strings. he had managed to insert himself back into her father's good graces not so long before, after all (an easy thing to do when the hand before him met such untimely end in a tragic fire) and where otto's reach may end, larys strong is more than an apt shadow for his queen. it is unspoken and yet so terribly clear, how there exist those who seek to undermine her claim at any opportunity.
when there was another question raised within her father's small council, brought up as a matter of concern, carefully worded by the hand of the king, rhaenyra first thinks it is something trite, or yet another attempt at delivering a blow towards her. they may dress it up as well-meaning inquiry but it stinks of vitriol and it doesn't escape her notice, how alicent can't seem to look her in the eye when the words settle.
are we certain of his lineage? otto asks. what proof do we have that he is not a bastard to his kind? his name means half-elven, does it not? through the ringing in rhaenyra's ears, she hears more questions posed. was your marriage witnessed by the high septon, princess? can we be sure?
she has sniped something back, something seething even if not particularly clever (i find your timing curious, lord otto; or do you imply not conducting a thorough study of my lord husband before our marriage? or perhaps you call your king a liar?) before it was viserys that raised his voice, citing the ridiculousness, stilling its immediacy. she knows he will be convinced to pursue it, at least to some degree. and with it, she knows that it was too late. that it might have only been asked now but it was conceived weeks before and that if it was said out loud here, it was whispered in their halls already, amidst the greens. viserys dismisses the council, and she leaves with a straight back and without a moment's pause and knows already that the first blow was dealt, right under her fucking nose.
by the time she is near enough to her quarters, her anger feels like a burn in her chest and she swings open the doors with little grace, lets them shut loudly behind her. whatever restraint she tried to hold onto at the face of listening to this idiocy wavers now, expression tight.
she will have some time to feel guilty for interrupting whatever he was in the midst of, when her temper cools enough. for now: )
Fucking vipers, ( she seethes. she should be bigger than this, she supposes. this anger should be beneath her but it isn't. they decided to target her through him.
her eyes sting, pinpricks of frustration. beneath it rolls a beast she doesn’t want to name — fear, for what she’s heard, for the possibility that whatever foundations they have started to build might crumble; for the possibility that the greens already have more unsaid inquiries.
she is, also, sharply aware that she’s afraid for his safety, knows something of how heavy-handed some solutions are when people work against you. he is clever, whip sharp in ways no one in her court is but he is kind and he is gentle and none of that is a weakness but the fact that it can be used as such by those who know less angers her to no end. and maybe therein lies the problem — her duty puts more than herself under a blade.
moments like these, she resents her inheritance most — this division, this challenge directly against the conqueror's dream. she shakes her head, in disbelief, and finally looks to elrond: ) They seek to undermine us. Already. It took less than half a year.
— see i've come to burn your kingdom down.
she had no expectation of this being a simple, easy thing but perhaps a part of her had hoped it would have pacified those around them for a longer time. long enough for her to feel more certain in her own footing, in what this would become between her and elrond. some part even entertained the thought of them being happy. while there was understanding between them, laid out as impressive foundations — and likely it alone kept her concerns at bay — there was still so many things to find out, to establish. all that was needed was time.
but, the court loves gossip, and otto hightower is a proficient player in pulling the necessary strings. he had managed to insert himself back into her father's good graces not so long before, after all (an easy thing to do when the hand before him met such untimely end in a tragic fire) and where otto's reach may end, larys strong is more than an apt shadow for his queen. it is unspoken and yet so terribly clear, how there exist those who seek to undermine her claim at any opportunity.
when there was another question raised within her father's small council, brought up as a matter of concern, carefully worded by the hand of the king, rhaenyra first thinks it is something trite, or yet another attempt at delivering a blow towards her. they may dress it up as well-meaning inquiry but it stinks of vitriol and it doesn't escape her notice, how alicent can't seem to look her in the eye when the words settle.
are we certain of his lineage? otto asks. what proof do we have that he is not a bastard to his kind? his name means half-elven, does it not? through the ringing in rhaenyra's ears, she hears more questions posed. was your marriage witnessed by the high septon, princess? can we be sure?
she has sniped something back, something seething even if not particularly clever (i find your timing curious, lord otto; or do you imply not conducting a thorough study of my lord husband before our marriage? or perhaps you call your king a liar?) before it was viserys that raised his voice, citing the ridiculousness, stilling its immediacy. she knows he will be convinced to pursue it, at least to some degree. and with it, she knows that it was too late. that it might have only been asked now but it was conceived weeks before and that if it was said out loud here, it was whispered in their halls already, amidst the greens. viserys dismisses the council, and she leaves with a straight back and without a moment's pause and knows already that the first blow was dealt, right under her fucking nose.
by the time she is near enough to her quarters, her anger feels like a burn in her chest and she swings open the doors with little grace, lets them shut loudly behind her. whatever restraint she tried to hold onto at the face of listening to this idiocy wavers now, expression tight.
she will have some time to feel guilty for interrupting whatever he was in the midst of, when her temper cools enough. for now: )
Fucking vipers, ( she seethes. she should be bigger than this, she supposes. this anger should be beneath her but it isn't. they decided to target her through him.
her eyes sting, pinpricks of frustration. beneath it rolls a beast she doesn’t want to name — fear, for what she’s heard, for the possibility that whatever foundations they have started to build might crumble; for the possibility that the greens already have more unsaid inquiries.
she is, also, sharply aware that she’s afraid for his safety, knows something of how heavy-handed some solutions are when people work against you. he is clever, whip sharp in ways no one in her court is but he is kind and he is gentle and none of that is a weakness but the fact that it can be used as such by those who know less angers her to no end. and maybe therein lies the problem — her duty puts more than herself under a blade.
moments like these, she resents her inheritance most — this division, this challenge directly against the conqueror's dream. she shakes her head, in disbelief, and finally looks to elrond: ) They seek to undermine us. Already. It took less than half a year.