ON HOLD.
there is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin - and no war so bloody as a war between dragons.
IN WHICH texts left by the late king rhaegar are discovered by maesters, unlocking the most intimate portrayal of the dance up to d...
"why do you come here?" naerea finally says to rhaegar, her tone flat. she does not recognize the purpose for him to, considering he had no dragon of his own-but curiosity plants a seed inside herself.
the day he had lost his dragon egg was one naerea remembers in vivid detail. aegon had tripped him, and rhaegar had been careless with his grip on the egg that had yet to hatch.
aegon had told her how the boy's egg shattered when it fell to the ground-the way ash had poured from it. 'dragon eggs cannot crack,' naerea had told her brother with a laugh, but aegon is insisted that they could, saying they crack the same way glass does. after that day, rhaegar had refused to attend any more lessons in the dragonpit. she had felt pity for him then, but those feelings had washed away shortly after, leaving nothing but indifference.
rhaegar purses his lips. "i like to watch the dragons." he admits.
the princess notices the way he says nothing more, the way he bites his tongue. she wants to roll her eyes at his reluctance, to tell him that she knows it is only half the truth.
"you wish to claim one," she speaks the obviousness that had settled itself in his words.
"mayhaps." he relaxes, if only a little.
the two continue like this for many moons. naerea and rhaegar watching asarrion. he tells her what the dragonkeepers say to her-laughing when naerea pulls a face that shows her displeasure with their words.
"asarrion grows quickly," rhaegar speaks as naerea finds a seat next to him.
she nods, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. he has grown used to her silence, and finds it comforting in some odd way-he could do the talking for both of them anyways.
they do not speak of the time they spend together in the dragonpit, and naerea cannot stand to face him as he stares at her. stop it, she wishes to tell him. stop acting as if we are friends.
but they were, she knew. and there was no point in denying the fact.
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news come of rhaenrya's marriage to daemon flurries through the red keep. naerea frowns at this when her mother tells her-her sister's husband, laenor velaryon, had only died just recently, shortly after laena had.
"does it bother you?" naerea asks gently as alicent brushes through her hair. "what rhaenrya has done."
alicent remains passive. "it does not matter my feelings on such a matter," her tone holds an underlying sense of dryness that naerea finds to be common whenever she speaks of rhaenrya-as if it took some great effort to even murmur her name.
"but it is not right," the princess frowns.
"perhaps," alicent admits, "but we mustn't gossip of such things."
