#;; smth smth viserys subscribing to the very cycle that destroyed THEM ALL & that in turn nearly destroyed dany

[kaerinio]

@drakonprince approached her grace: ❝ I will not wed you. ❞ / from Rhaegar bc I couldn't resist akskakaks.

It is quite strange, the smile now dancing on her lips — — — reflective, and just a touch sardonic ; as though her teeth have sunk into something most peculiar, and her tongue seeks to recognize the flavor. A distant luster sheaths the once-attentive gaze she'd directed at her brother ; she is wandering, no doubt, turning over the cool stones sitting atop memories long buried. In recollection, they stir, rousing from beneath the caked dirt of their neglected graves.

For years and years, Viserys whispered, then snapped, then screamed lamentations, then frustrations, then fury about the timing of her birth ( as though she'd some authority over the matter ). The fool. Yet another fabrication : a falsehood of his own construction to legitimize his resentment of her, and, oh, how she, a trembling and subdued thing, had hated him in those moments. How she, diminished and love-starved and frightened, guttered the feeble embers of wrath threatening to spark to wildfire over the blatant dishonoring of their mother. Those infernal complaints rustle in the wind : ‘It is your fault. You should have been born sooner,’ he enjoyed hissing, and once, when temper flared, she barked, pointing a small, shaking finger at his face, ‘You were born before me, what of your fault?’

Now, slender fingers lift, testing a phantom ache on the smooth, unmarred jaw before grazing, tracing up, and traversing a high cheekbone until they press against her forehead.

And peals of laughter erupt from her lips, melodic and round and full ; they reach crescendo when her head falls back, braids shifting, ringing in time with the giggles. A rather startling reaction! Even Viserion and Rhaegal jerk, lifting serpentine heads from the giant mass of their curled bodies. She nearly tumbles back onto the pile of cushions. “Oh! Please, forgive me. You are not the cause of my outburst, dear brother,” she says, quieting herself, hand falling to her heart, eyes bright with some wry form of amusement. “It is only that I am once again astounded by Viserys’ devotion to ignorance.”

IGNORANCE AND FURY AND SHAME ; those had been his favorite weapons ( and, it was upon the softness of both her body and soul that he reveled in whetting his rage . . . and with her tears that he cleansed himself anew, reeling to unleash himself again ). “He was convinced that I could have turned your eye, but he could not have been more incorrect.” Suddenly, that feeling, that fervent wish to have had Rhaegar at her side rather than Viserys stirs. How different things would have been, she ponders, leaning forward on her knees and reaching to place her hands upon his arms ( in hopes of easing the stern set of his brow ). “You’ve naught to worry about from me, Rhaegar. I've no expectations of such a union between the two of us. We are one in spirit, in mind, in blood, and in heart. With that, I am most content.” A reassuring squeeze, and still, even after all this time, wonder sparks ( he is here, here, here! ).

“That beside, my advisors would have me take a husband whose veins are swimming with the blood of Old Ghis,” she quiets, softening her timbre ; violet meets indigo when she frowns. “What would our countrymen do — — — if I ascended the throne with Hizdahr zo Loraq at my side? Would they scorn me?”