[ The subject of ruling is a difficult one, and one that Elrond knows is near impossible to truly understand without some experience in the matter. It is easy to cast aspersions upon Viserys' rule, upon Gil-galad's, but whatever some might find objectionable about their methods, there are years upon years of reasons shaping the paths they choose to take. In Viserys' case, an uneasy succession, a hard-won and fragile peace, an attempt to create a legacy that will not paint him as a poor ruler. And in Gil-galad's, the memories of the chaos Morgoth had wrought through the First Age, and the responsibility he has for his people as the heir of the kings of the Noldor.
He had heard, naturally, a little about the matter of Rhaenyra's naming as heir, given his former position as the High King's herald, and now as Rhaenyra's husband. Even though he is a little more reluctant to acknowledge that Viserys' motives may have had more to do with his feelings toward his brother than about his daughter's eventual ability to rule, it is not a point he seeks to argue with her, and one he fully understands in how it has shaped her sentiments today.
It is not easy to bear such responsibility, let alone for a reason that one does not perceive to be genuine. And power has a way of fracturing friendships, of twisting love. He wants to ask if she doubts herself, but he thinks the answer is already clear in what she tells him now — of course she would doubt. No matter how much confidence she might have in herself, no matter how willing she might be to push back against the social mores that attempt to close in around her, that feeling would be impossible to truly brook.
(Or, at least, impossible to brook for a heart that would be truly worthy of such a weight. Those who crave power are often those least deserving of it.)
Still, he shakes his head in mild self-deprecation as she notes she wishes more were of his temperament, the expression shifting into one that is almost regretful at her wish that she might have met some of his family. He wishes it, too, now — it is strange, that she will never know those who were once closest to him. He feels lucky, to be able to speak with her father, to have some idea of her family. He supposes that Elendil and his sons are the last true link he has left upon this Earth, descendants of his brother's house, but they're distant from him in a way that doesn't feel quite the same.
But his focus remains sharp upon her in this moment, studying the way the minutiae of her features shift as she speaks of her inheritance. Without thinking, he reaches out, taking her hand. Even if Viserys had not believed in her in that moment, he wants to say, he does. He believes in her ability — a fact that does not preclude the fact that she could just as easily turn into a tyrant or a scourge upon her people. The potential exists in everyone, but to truly grasp it is the difficult part.
His eyebrows raise slightly at her last words — he had expected a sort of end to the conversation, for it to conclude with an affirmation on his part that he does intend to let her walk this path alone. But, he supposes, he ought to have expected that the Targaryens would have other secrets, that there would be some things that the Elves would not know, that they would not have been told. His gaze follows hers to the walls before flickering back to her face as he offers her a nod. ]
I will follow wherever you lead, [ he says simply, the single statement containing several layers of meaning — not just now, but in the days to come, in the years they are to spend together. ]
no subject
He had heard, naturally, a little about the matter of Rhaenyra's naming as heir, given his former position as the High King's herald, and now as Rhaenyra's husband. Even though he is a little more reluctant to acknowledge that Viserys' motives may have had more to do with his feelings toward his brother than about his daughter's eventual ability to rule, it is not a point he seeks to argue with her, and one he fully understands in how it has shaped her sentiments today.
It is not easy to bear such responsibility, let alone for a reason that one does not perceive to be genuine. And power has a way of fracturing friendships, of twisting love. He wants to ask if she doubts herself, but he thinks the answer is already clear in what she tells him now — of course she would doubt. No matter how much confidence she might have in herself, no matter how willing she might be to push back against the social mores that attempt to close in around her, that feeling would be impossible to truly brook.
(Or, at least, impossible to brook for a heart that would be truly worthy of such a weight. Those who crave power are often those least deserving of it.)
Still, he shakes his head in mild self-deprecation as she notes she wishes more were of his temperament, the expression shifting into one that is almost regretful at her wish that she might have met some of his family. He wishes it, too, now — it is strange, that she will never know those who were once closest to him. He feels lucky, to be able to speak with her father, to have some idea of her family. He supposes that Elendil and his sons are the last true link he has left upon this Earth, descendants of his brother's house, but they're distant from him in a way that doesn't feel quite the same.
But his focus remains sharp upon her in this moment, studying the way the minutiae of her features shift as she speaks of her inheritance. Without thinking, he reaches out, taking her hand. Even if Viserys had not believed in her in that moment, he wants to say, he does. He believes in her ability — a fact that does not preclude the fact that she could just as easily turn into a tyrant or a scourge upon her people. The potential exists in everyone, but to truly grasp it is the difficult part.
His eyebrows raise slightly at her last words — he had expected a sort of end to the conversation, for it to conclude with an affirmation on his part that he does intend to let her walk this path alone. But, he supposes, he ought to have expected that the Targaryens would have other secrets, that there would be some things that the Elves would not know, that they would not have been told. His gaze follows hers to the walls before flickering back to her face as he offers her a nod. ]
I will follow wherever you lead, [ he says simply, the single statement containing several layers of meaning — not just now, but in the days to come, in the years they are to spend together. ]