[ That question prompts a sigh, the first such reaction that she's really seen from him, perhaps for obvious reasons: It's hardly an easy one to answer. ]
I think it did, once, [ he answers, at length, though the way he looks at her now is almost searching, as though she might be able to tell him if he's on the right or wrong path. To know that he looks upon his father when he casts his gaze into the night sky, to know that his mother once held a Silmaril, to be so closely connected to the Valar — these are not weightless things, not as intangible as memories usually are.
(It costs him nothing to recount this later to her father, and he does so freely and willingly, finding ample reward in the King's interest and a sense of friendship as one talk begets another, two histories shared piece by piece as the great model in Viserys' chambers slowly comes together.) ]
But, now, and in these recent years, I think my desires and ambitions have not grown out of a sense of matching them, of that my name is remembered, so much as as honoring their intentions, and doing what is best for my people. For our people.
[ He does not doubt that his parents had loved him and his brother dearly — and he had heard that they had feared them lost following the attack upon the Havens of Sirion — but they had left them, in the end, for the sake of the greater good, for duty. He cannot fault them that choice — he would have done the same. Should have. But that knowledge does not totally ease the pain of parting.
He knows, too, that such feelings often breed resentment, given their place at the uneasy crux between what can rationally be seen to be right and what one wishes had happened instead. However, he does not grant that feeling any fertile ground upon which to breed — he knows better, and it is better to love them from afar, to miss them, than to hate them without any true purpose. ]
I believe that is the most one can aspire to, [ he adds, as a sort of cap to his point. ] Ambition is not always a flaw, but to want too much, and too greedily, is a danger that often does not reap rewards, and can corrupt the heart of an endeavor that was once pure in intention.
[ And besides, he has seen too many men fall to ambition's sword, not least the fall of his brother's former domain (and, further afield, Morgoth and his followers). He had felt anguish, then, at the news of the city's fall, though there had been some small comfort in the escape of Elendil and his company.
His focus, formerly a little hazy as he'd recounted his family's history, turns back to Rhaenyra, now, studying her expression as he considers that the question she poses is one that applies to her as well. She comes from a storied house, and the burden placed upon her as heir, especially in a realm so unwilling to accept a woman in a position of power and influence, is one he knows to be heavy to bear. Still, he asks: ]
And what of you, Rhaenyra? You were still but a child, when your father named you heir, and even before then, you bore the weight of your family's name.
no subject
I think it did, once, [ he answers, at length, though the way he looks at her now is almost searching, as though she might be able to tell him if he's on the right or wrong path. To know that he looks upon his father when he casts his gaze into the night sky, to know that his mother once held a Silmaril, to be so closely connected to the Valar — these are not weightless things, not as intangible as memories usually are.
(It costs him nothing to recount this later to her father, and he does so freely and willingly, finding ample reward in the King's interest and a sense of friendship as one talk begets another, two histories shared piece by piece as the great model in Viserys' chambers slowly comes together.) ]
But, now, and in these recent years, I think my desires and ambitions have not grown out of a sense of matching them, of that my name is remembered, so much as as honoring their intentions, and doing what is best for my people. For our people.
[ He does not doubt that his parents had loved him and his brother dearly — and he had heard that they had feared them lost following the attack upon the Havens of Sirion — but they had left them, in the end, for the sake of the greater good, for duty. He cannot fault them that choice — he would have done the same. Should have. But that knowledge does not totally ease the pain of parting.
He knows, too, that such feelings often breed resentment, given their place at the uneasy crux between what can rationally be seen to be right and what one wishes had happened instead. However, he does not grant that feeling any fertile ground upon which to breed — he knows better, and it is better to love them from afar, to miss them, than to hate them without any true purpose. ]
I believe that is the most one can aspire to, [ he adds, as a sort of cap to his point. ] Ambition is not always a flaw, but to want too much, and too greedily, is a danger that often does not reap rewards, and can corrupt the heart of an endeavor that was once pure in intention.
[ And besides, he has seen too many men fall to ambition's sword, not least the fall of his brother's former domain (and, further afield, Morgoth and his followers). He had felt anguish, then, at the news of the city's fall, though there had been some small comfort in the escape of Elendil and his company.
His focus, formerly a little hazy as he'd recounted his family's history, turns back to Rhaenyra, now, studying her expression as he considers that the question she poses is one that applies to her as well. She comes from a storied house, and the burden placed upon her as heir, especially in a realm so unwilling to accept a woman in a position of power and influence, is one he knows to be heavy to bear. Still, he asks: ]
And what of you, Rhaenyra? You were still but a child, when your father named you heir, and even before then, you bore the weight of your family's name.