( The irony of their dangers is something that is only mildly lost on her. The flames Morgoth had sewn were chronicled in histories even here. But the issue with mortality is that the further away from history that each generation falls, the more they are likely to forget its terrors. Elven longevity ensures such remembrance. Ensures such comparisons.
The expression that passes along Rhaenyra's face is one of quiet surprise — there's something owlish in the way she looks up at him, as though the question had never occurred to her. )
I must, ( in a tone no higher than a whisper, and it doesn't sound entirely convinced. ) If I do not — ( What is then the point of restraint? )
I must. If Aegon's conquests were a result of ambition alone, why keep this secrecy? If it was simply to inspire fear, and control, why not ensure the masses know of it too? ( A burden of impending doom, carried across heir to heir instead feels precise. Or perhaps it is the skewed perspective of someone who was told, all their lives, that they were destined for such a responsibility. It would be a clever way to ensure their ruling dynasty. And yet — prophecy was no trite idea. It carried weight. )
( Even as she says it, she knows its assumption — that no one can claim to understand the intention of the dead with such long shadows. She can only hope, which felt like a brittle emotion at best.
The truth is simpler — in asking such a question (a fair one, an honest one), Elrond had asked Rhaenyra something no one else has. It hadn't even crossed her mind as an option. The possibility that she may choose for herself — it frightens her. A choice, something she so coveted, but in this, there is another question — if it is hinged on her faith, what if she decides that she owes nothing, to this realm? What if she could simply turn away from the obligation of ruling, new order be damned? Follow her childish desires of far away lands and cakes, on the back of a spoiled she-dragon? Such a freedom is a dangerous thing (does she, in fact, wish to rule?). She swallows it down, this fear, and it catches in the hollow of her throat and she looks down, in an effort to hide it away.
The room — and Balerion — suddenly feels titanic in a much different way; the shadows deepen, severe and sharp, inky black under their feet and words threaten to taste like ash upon the tongue. )
Whether it happens in a month or in the centuries to come, it is a duty I cannot shake. But I am given to wonder now — is a prophecy of a conqueror too fine a thread from which to hang a kingdom? ( She feels like she should be sure; she feels like in the face of such a question, she ought to stand tall and receive it as a future queen might.
So why is there such a desperation to her thoughts? To find a sense to cling to, as though a reminder still, that such inheritance remains unearned? ) I did not consider the possibility of wavering.
( She finds both hands, again, fingers slipping under his palms, thumbs settling along the curve of knuckles. Should she worry, at how much such simple nearness soothes? Willing her voice into more surety: ) It may be selfish, to share this with you, I admit. But — in doing so, I would hope — I would hope to ask something else of you. ( she recalls, in their walk amidst the lindon trees before their ceremony, that he had offered her that gift — should she require anything of him, that she might only ask it.
She knows, not without some degree of guilt that is perilously tamped down, that this will not be the only thing she asks. That whatever requests may come, that they may only grow. Would he remain is giving? ) If there is any truth to this, then I would ask you to grant me your wisdom, Elrond. You speak of gods and heroes and powers far beyond my understanding, and in that, I hope, to have your counsel. ( there is one certainty that remains — he has her trust. Such a thing she did not think any one would hold ever again. )
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The expression that passes along Rhaenyra's face is one of quiet surprise — there's something owlish in the way she looks up at him, as though the question had never occurred to her. )
I must, ( in a tone no higher than a whisper, and it doesn't sound entirely convinced. ) If I do not — ( What is then the point of restraint? )
I must. If Aegon's conquests were a result of ambition alone, why keep this secrecy? If it was simply to inspire fear, and control, why not ensure the masses know of it too? ( A burden of impending doom, carried across heir to heir instead feels precise. Or perhaps it is the skewed perspective of someone who was told, all their lives, that they were destined for such a responsibility. It would be a clever way to ensure their ruling dynasty. And yet — prophecy was no trite idea. It carried weight. )
( Even as she says it, she knows its assumption — that no one can claim to understand the intention of the dead with such long shadows. She can only hope, which felt like a brittle emotion at best.
The truth is simpler — in asking such a question (a fair one, an honest one), Elrond had asked Rhaenyra something no one else has. It hadn't even crossed her mind as an option. The possibility that she may choose for herself — it frightens her. A choice, something she so coveted, but in this, there is another question — if it is hinged on her faith, what if she decides that she owes nothing, to this realm? What if she could simply turn away from the obligation of ruling, new order be damned? Follow her childish desires of far away lands and cakes, on the back of a spoiled she-dragon? Such a freedom is a dangerous thing (does she, in fact, wish to rule?). She swallows it down, this fear, and it catches in the hollow of her throat and she looks down, in an effort to hide it away.
The room — and Balerion — suddenly feels titanic in a much different way; the shadows deepen, severe and sharp, inky black under their feet and words threaten to taste like ash upon the tongue. )
Whether it happens in a month or in the centuries to come, it is a duty I cannot shake. But I am given to wonder now — is a prophecy of a conqueror too fine a thread from which to hang a kingdom? ( She feels like she should be sure; she feels like in the face of such a question, she ought to stand tall and receive it as a future queen might.
So why is there such a desperation to her thoughts? To find a sense to cling to, as though a reminder still, that such inheritance remains unearned? ) I did not consider the possibility of wavering.
( She finds both hands, again, fingers slipping under his palms, thumbs settling along the curve of knuckles. Should she worry, at how much such simple nearness soothes? Willing her voice into more surety: ) It may be selfish, to share this with you, I admit. But — in doing so, I would hope — I would hope to ask something else of you. ( she recalls, in their walk amidst the lindon trees before their ceremony, that he had offered her that gift — should she require anything of him, that she might only ask it.
She knows, not without some degree of guilt that is perilously tamped down, that this will not be the only thing she asks. That whatever requests may come, that they may only grow. Would he remain is giving? ) If there is any truth to this, then I would ask you to grant me your wisdom, Elrond. You speak of gods and heroes and powers far beyond my understanding, and in that, I hope, to have your counsel. ( there is one certainty that remains — he has her trust. Such a thing she did not think any one would hold ever again. )