( tyriq withers, cis male, he/him ) HARK! I believe the heralds are announcing the arrival of AENYX TARGARYEN, the THIRTY1 year old, CROWN PRINCE OF of THE IRON THRONE. They are known to hold loyalty towards THE CROWN/THEMSELVES and little birds sing of them being INSIGHTFUL & SELF-ASSURED. When one dreams of them, images of ‘I ETCH MY OWN FACE UPON MY WICKED FLESH; I AM MY OWN DEVASTATING GOD’; ‘I NEVER SAW EYES LIKE THAT, THAT COLOR, THAT VICIOUS FIRE—'; ‘YES YOU WILL RISE FROM THE ASHES, BUT THE BURNING COMES FIRST’ comes to mind . However their MERCURIAL & REMORSELESS nature can make for difficult times. Time will only tell what their true intentions are. { gem, thirty+, she/her, gmt+2} *rider of the dragon VANDAL
BASICS
given name: aenyx targaryen;
nicknames: nyx;
age: thirty1;
title: crown prince of Westeros;
orientation: bisexual & demiromantic;
marital status: engaged;
religion: nonbeliever, but will play pretend when required in public situations;
allegiance: the iron throne/himself & vandal;
dragon: a deep, dark purple with lighter violet undersides & wings, he hatched in the prince’s cradle and they spent the first few years of their lives at each other’s side until Vandal grew too big to be comfortably housed indoors, his flames are bright violet — reference;
faceclaim: tyriq withers.
PHYSICAL
build: muscular, athletic;
height: 196 cms / 6’5’’;
hair: platinum blonde, close cropped;
eyes: deep violet;
fashion: mainly wears his house colors, black & red, with dragon motifs, clothes cut in a militaristic style, prefers lighter materials, absolutely despises velvet.
PSYCHOLOGICAL
mbti: entj — natural-born leaders. Embodying the gifts of charisma and confidence, entjs project authority in a way that draws crowds together behind a common goal. However, these personalities are also characterized by an often ruthless level of rationality, using their drive, determination, and sharp mind to achieve whatever objectives they’ve set for themselves;
temperament: choleric — people with choleric personalities have an outgoing nature and generally prefer to be in control of their environment or the situation they are in. they are confident and decisive but may come off as domineering or aggressive at times;
moral alignment: chaotic neutral — a chaotic neutral character is an individualist who prioritizes personal freedom above all else, acting on whim and disregarding rules, traditions, or moral authority. known as "free spirits," they are not inherently evil or good, focusing instead on their own liberty without actively trying to harm or help others. they are unpredictable but not necessarily irrational;
virtues: assertiveness & purposefulness;
vices: contempt & wrath;
( + ): charismatic, confident, quick-witted;
( – ): impatient, remorseless, obstinate.
BIOGRAPHY
Aenyx’s first memories aren’t of people, but tiny sharp teeth, warm scales and leathery wings, screeches echoing across stone walls and curling up around his dragon, the smell of burning in his nose, the taste of smoke on his tongue. He remembers the reassuring weight of Vandal’s head on his shoulder better than his mother’s touch, he can recall the soft whistle of his breath against his throat more strongly than his father’s voice. Everyone else is hazy in his mind, their words coming as through water, but every moment spent with Vandal shines like a beacon. When he’d rush into the fire to retrieve the meat the prince had thrown in there, sharing it between them like brothers; when he’d run below him once he finally took flight, arms up and wide open, waiting to welcome him back. Their first flight was short, clumsy, the boy too big, the dragon still small, but they pushed, again and again, until a round across the courtyard turned into ten, turned into circling the keep, turned into flying over the sea until his clothes hardened with salt.
By the time his father and aunts flew across the water to unite the Seven Kingdoms, both boy and dragon were confident enough to patrol the skies above Dragonstone, keeping a watchful eye towards the continent, scenting the faint smell of smoke in the air, imagining the flames consuming all those petty kings held dear. His parents called him a prince before then, though, and it took a few more years for Aenyx to realize he wasn’t born one, not really, that his family fashioned their crown from fire and blood, while he was still playing with wooden swords and learning to shoot with blunted arrows.
It still tastes like a lie, their claim of divinity — at least with his feet on the ground. It’s easier to digest with Vandal by his side, rushing towards the horizon. His father taught him to distrust their vassals, and perhaps he’s learned the lesson too well. Perhaps their vassals aren’t the only one who cannot be trusted, perhaps one cannot truly trust anyone but themselves, and the extension of himself that can take to the skies. He’s always been a fast learner, and while he takes pride in his place and plays his part well, he cannot forget that it was taken from everyone else, rather than simply given by his father. And he knows obedience doesn’t require trust, when under pain of exile, or worse. And while he obeys his king, he cannot trust his father. Perhaps he cannot even truly love him, not when the crown comes first.
A memory surfaced uninvited. A stern voice, a cane striking against polished floors, countless corrections. Again. Again. Again.
Prince Aenyx, your shoulders.
Lady Rosalyn, stop looking at your feet.
Slowly, she placed her hand in his.
Years had passed. Kingdoms had shifted. They had become strangers and then something worse. Yet her hand still seemed to fit perfectly in his, as though neither of them had forgotten.
For a moment her gaze lingered on their joined hands. She wondered, despite herself, what might have happened if she had never returned to Highgarden. If he had not become who he was meant to become. If they had been allowed to remain children just a little longer.
Foolish thoughts.
She stepped closer, resting her free hand lightly against his shoulder. The distance between them disappeared with an ease she found deeply unfair.
Then she looked at him. Truly looked.
The eyes were the same. The same impossible violet, the same sharpness that always made her feel as though he saw more than he ought to. But there was something else there now. Something harder. Heavier. The easy certainty of youth had long since given way to something forged beneath crowns and expectations and disappointments. Perhaps the same could be said of her.
There was little use mourning what might have been. They had only what was.
"Are you sure this is a wise idea?" she asked softly. A faint smile touched her lips. “I would hate to remember how easy this used to be.”
The hand on his shoulder is featherweight, cautious almost and as her eyes meet his, his arm snakes around her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer. There is no need to concern themselves with propriety with the lack of audience after all. He returns her smile, though his is slightly more mocking. “I’m sure it isn’t.” he’s also sure she’s aware of that. His grip tightens as he begins to pull them away from the furniture. “I never forgot,” he admits with a halfhearted shake of his head, letting his smile drop, replaced by a quietly intent impression as he studies her face, while they sway.
Her choice of word echoes in his mind.
Easy.
What else in his life could be described like that? Perhaps this is why it’s so hard for him to remove himself from her; perhaps that is why whenever she gives an inch, he tries to take a mile — trying to find that point when things were simple between them, again. Not that he doesn't know they never truly were, they were just better at ignoring the world back when they were younger and consequences felt like the sort of things that happened to other people.
He knows what she wants from him, and he knows he can’t give it. If he gave a damn about honor, gallantry, his duty to his king and to the realm, he wouldn’t be here right now, dancing in an empty room, pulling her closer, his hands running up her back, cupping her jaw to tilt her chin up.
This is why he can’t be friends with her — he cannot conceive of having her close and not touching her, not pushing for more. “If you don’t want this, say it,” the words are whispered against her skin. “You understand me well enough to know I’m not selfless enough to stop.”
✏️ What nickname do they secretly love being called?
king big dick of fuck you mountain
He doesn’t really care about nicknames, good or bad. There’s the slightest enjoyment in anything that contains the word ‘dragon’, but love is taking it too far. Mostly, he’s unbothered.
The Pentoshi side of his family are much more relaxed around him and would call him ‘Nyx’.
“Since when does a man in your position require wine to ask a woman to dance?” Rosalyn asked, one brow lifting. “Did the competition frighten you?” The corner of her mouth twitched.
She had spent a good portion of that evening noticing him despite every effort not to. Noticing how well he carried himself, how easily attention gathered around him, how unfairly handsome he had looked beneath the candlelight. All that time, she had assumed the attention was entirely one-sided. That he would never grant her vanity the satisfaction of knowing he had looked in return. Judging by how embarrassingly pleased she felt now, she could understand why he had kept it to himself.
“Were you afraid I was going to say no?” Then she looked away, as though her eyes would give the answer away, and deflection was considerably more difficult beneath his gaze. “Though perhaps it is for the best,” she added after a moment. “The evening already ended disastrously enough without giving people another thing to gossip about.”
He quirks an eyebrow at her next question, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “I have no competition,” and he considers jealousy to be quite a pedestrian sentiment. Resentment would ring truer — resentment at those who do not need to concern themselves with the reproaches of a saturnine father who accepts no opposition to his pronouncements. And with Aenyx’s eschewal of Arianne throughout this trip, Aegon already has plenty to lecture him on, without him adding fuel to the fire by paying special attention to anyone else.
His head tilts to one side when she looks away, his sign to know she’s thinking about lying and he treads forward, closing whatever little distance is between them once more. “There’s no one around to gossip about it here,” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, the disaster going unmentioned. Now that he’s had time to think about it, the silver lining of his cousin’s impulsivity was that it allowed Aenyx to sidestep both duty and desire in one fell swoop. “No one to see me being refused, either,” he reaches his hand, palm up.
There’s no music, but it wouldn’t be the first time they danced without it. They didn’t learn to dance with music, after all. Just one stern tutor, irately beating the tempo against the floor with a stick, criticizing their forms with barked orders. Silence would be a sweeter tune.
“You see? Now you are simply being rude.” Rosalyn let out a disbelieving laugh. “You have just proven my point.” She shook her head, as though the idea of being right delighted her more than anything. “Every time we manage to arrive at a conversation that is almost pleasant, one that I am actually enjoying, you seem to develop an overwhelming need to ruin it the moment it ceases to unfold exactly as you would like.”
She continued to play with her goblet, now seeming to have found the most interesting of things at its bottom. “And here I was under the impression my company delighted you.” The words were light, almost playful. “Had I known all those years ago that I could have spared myself the arguments, the insults, the endless attempts at deciphering whatever it is that happens inside your head by simply opening my legs, I would have done it much sooner and saved myself from the torture.” She sighed, finally taking a fat sip. “Now you have made me rude as well.”
She watched him over the rim of the cup, and with every step he took she became more still, more conscious of his presence, more aware of his words. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps dragons were truly better than people. She briefly found herself wondering where she might acquire one. Sometimes, what one sought was standing directly before them. Unfortunately for her, he was only a dragonlord. Somewhat dragon. Ultimately, just a man.
And, to be fair, she was hardly worthy either. She would not have him as a pariah. Still, she could not have him as a king either. And despite all of that, she kept finding herself here. Still asking questions. Still listening to the answers. Still lingering.
The last of the wine disappeared as the Valyrian slipped from his lips. With it went her final excuse to look away. The goblet lowered slowly, leaving nothing between them but the silence he seemed so intent on cornering her into. “So let us stop lying, then.” The smile she attempted lasted only a moment before fading. “I do not want you to leave.” Her gaze held his. “Would that be enough?”
He might be rude, but she’s insufferable. It’s almost infuriating how she’s describing purposefully needling him as enjoyable — as if she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Almost, because the swiftness with which she manages to get a raise out of him is downright amusing once he gets enough distance from it.
Their eyes meet, her smile blinking in and out in a moment and he lets out a huff of laughter at her stubbornness. “No,” he admits before he even has time to think about lying. “But it’s better than nothing.” There are only two options for them, after all — not enough or nothing. Fresh silence falls, but he doesn’t stand motionlessly in it for long, his hand lifting carefully, slowly, fingers trailing softly against the side of her face as he pushes a silken strand of hair away. His head dips for a moment, their foreheads almost touching, but he steps away before the gesture is completed.
“These Dornish fashions suit you. Bolder than the Reach’s,” he’s still close enough that giving her a once-over would be ungainly, besides now that she’s no longer avoiding his eye, he prefers to look at her. “The dress you wore at Sera’s wedding was particularly fine. Had the party not been cut short, I might have drank enough by the end of it to ask you to dance.”
She accepted the goblet before she could think better of it, if only to give her hands something to do.
Why must he be so commanding? That was her family’s chambers, and yet he moved through them as though they belonged to him. As though everything belonged to him. He invaded her space, poured her wine, rearranged the conversation to suit himself, and expected the world to accommodate him in return.
And why, Gods above, must he be so rude? Did he know nothing of cordiality? Of grace? Of peace? Rosalyn could be cynical when she wished. Provocative. Petty, certainly. But she liked to believe she remained tasteful while doing so. Aenyx possessed a remarkable talent for making even the simplest exchange feel like a battlefield.
Still, anything was preferable to dwelling on Loras. Anything was preferable to wondering where he was, if he still was. Her fingers tightened briefly around the stem of the goblet. A humorless smile crossed her face. Even when he was his most undoing, she still found herself grateful for it.
“Is that what you wish for?” she asked at last, absentmindedly, swirling her wine. “To be friends?” The word sounded strange coming from him. “Do you even know how?” She continued before she could stop herself, “I mean, do you actually have any friends?” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. “Human ones, preferably. I do not believe your dragon counts.”
“Friendship is simple. Comfortable. People who are friends generally seem to enjoy speaking to one another.” She took the goblet to her lips. “We have never been particularly good at that.”
Aenyx can’t help but think things would be, at least, simpler, if she could just answer one fucking question instead of trying to turn it into a blade to wield against him. He snorts derisively, taking a gulp of his wine without tasting it, and doesn’t stop drinking until the goblet is drained. The nonchalance with which she dismisses Vandal sends a spike of irritation through his veins and he turns away from her to get himself more wine, teeth digging into his tongue to keep from snapping.
“Never?” he lets out a bark of laughter, entirely devoid of cheerfulness. “Seven fucks, Rosalyn, I know I’m a great lay, but I didn’t realize how much you were being inconvenienced by uncomfortable, unenjoyable conversation just to get to the fun part.” there’s a flawless smile on his face when he turns to face her, again, though it does not reach his eyes. “Had I known I didn’t have to woo you to get you into bed you’d have saved us both some effort.”
His smile vanishes as he steps closer to her. “No, I don’t want to be your friend. Yes, I know how to make them, it’s just that the caliber of people who want to befriend the crown prince leave much to be desired. Vandal would have me whether I’m king or pariah, I’ve yet to find a person I could say the same for,” he recites through her inquires with suitable patience and just the lightest touch of pedantry. “And perhaps our discussions would flow more easily if you didn’t insist on answering my questions by questioning me in turn.” he takes yet another step closer, switching to Valyrian. “Lies are more effective when you tell them to someone who wasn’t present during whatever it is you’re lying about,” Aenyx cants his head to one side. “Now, let us try something easier — do you want me to stay?”
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@rxgality
when: sometime after the final plot drop
As it seems to be the case with all of these events of late, everyone is scurrying to leave as soon as possible. Now that he too is far from home, Aenyx understands the sentiment a lot better, although he keeps his urge to rush about better hidden. It helps that he has the best means of transportation at his disposal — the servants can deal with the actual packing and moving, and preparing for the days long journey ahead, he’ll be home in hours once he gets granted leave. In the meantime, he finds a balcony away from the onslaught of people and makes himself comfortable against the sun-warmed stone of the banister. The scrape of footsteps alerts him to someone invading his quiet spot, but he turns around casually, no sign of annoyance in his countenance. “Lord Jayse,” Aenyx tilts his head to one side, inspecting his cousin’s snubbed fiancé curiously. “Looking forward to returning to the Vale?” that seems a safe enough topic of conversation.
The answers crossed her mind almost immediately. Answers she did not dare to say aloud. Neither did she dare move. She could have stepped aside. She could have challenged him to leave. But she knew he would. And she did not think she could bear to watch him walk away.
So she remained where she was, silent, her eyes following him as he approached. Her back pressed further against the wooden door behind her, as though she had forgotten it was there. As though some stubborn part of her had decided to hold her ground. Or perhaps to keep him in.
“If you truly wished to leave, Aenyx, you would have done so already,” Rosalyn replied quietly. “Just as you have done every time I have attempted to speak with you these past days. My behavior could not interfere less with your ability to dismiss me.”
The words lingered between them for a moment. Then she drew a slow breath, closing her eyes briefly before letting it out. “But I suppose that hardly matters.” Her shoulders straightened, not quite regaining their usual poise, but approaching it. “You have come to my family's chambers for a reason.” A small pause. “And with Loras absent, I...” She hesitated, the words catching for only a moment before she forced them forward. “How may I help you, Your Grace?”
It must be easier to tell the truth when it isn’t about her, but the cynicism doesn’t help him recover faster. As usual, just when he is certain of his upper hand, she finds a way to turn the tables, reminding him yet again that however well he thinks he knows her, her understanding of him equals it. Aenyx straightens, the silence lingering between them, a brief, startled smile ghosting across his face.
What a queen she would make.
The thought comes unbidden and he pushes it away without examination. The subject of his betrothal is frustrating enough as it is, he will not make it worse. “I was looking for your brother to discuss the details of my departure, my lady, which I believe is outside your purview, so that hardly matters,” he sarcastically repeats her words back to her.
“And you’re right to point out — I don’t want to leave,” he leans in closer, his hand lifting to rest against the door she guards. “Just like you don’t want to see me go,” must it really be him to make all the tough choices? She reproached him that not so long ago, yet when given the opportunity she throws it right back at him. Aenyx pushes away from her without waiting for an answer and turns back towards the room, walking to a decanter of wine and pouring two goblets. “I don’t particularly want to stay either,” he lifts an arm, offering her one of the glasses. “But I am curious, I suppose — do you think we could become friends?” the lightest distain is placed on the final word.
Her eyes lingered on him, taking in the impatience, the tension wound through his shoulders, the way the question came too quickly to have been the one he truly meant to ask. Though, to be fair, she had rarely known what he truly meant.
“I do not know.” The answer came immediately.
She wished she could have offered something different, something prettier. Pettier, perhaps. Good evening to you as well, my prince, you look good. Some carefully measured greeting. Some attempt to maintain the illusion that things between them remained simple. Some trivial way to remind him, to punish him. Today she found she lacked the energy for it.
“I need to speak with my brother before making any decision.” She leaned back against the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. It was not quite a graceful pose. She was too tired for grace. A faint breath escaped her. “Though that has become rather difficult, considering no one seems to know where he is.” The words were delivered almost flatly. Not because she did not care, but because she had exhausted herself caring already.
Her gaze drifted briefly through the room before returning to him. For a moment she simply looked at him. Standing there. In her family's chambers. Alone with her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. “I was under the impression you had decided this would not happen again.”
His eyes stay fixed on her, a fleeting, sardonic smile lifting the corner of his lips upwards as she speaks, though he cannot claim to be listening. She looks dejected as she leans against the stile, her gaze spiritless as it washes senselessly over the room, her flat tone contrasting with the words that belatedly register to him.
Had it been anyone else, Aenyx would have simply assumed they didn’t search in the right places, or asked the correct people, but Rose understands the ebb and flow of the court well enough to know what she’s doing. Still, the spark of interest is brief — he’s fairly confident he’s seen Loras at breakfast, he’d assumed he had pressing kingdom business to attend to during the trial and his chamber is the first place he’s looked, there isn’t reason for concern, in his view. “I’ll tell the Lord Commander to keep an eye out, though I’m sure he’ll turn up on his own,” there’s a cavalier note in his voice, which he doesn’t quite mean, but the lack of pretense in her bearing disconcerts him.
He doesn’t quite know what to do with her vulnerability given the lack of clarity between them, the long months of complete silence, the shallow attempts at conversation he’s rebuffed since coming here. So where she keeps herself open, he closes himself up in response, the tension in his shoulders vanishing, the strain of the past several days wiped from his expression to be replaced with easy indifference.
And not a moment too soon, as well, for her next words push him, in an instant, beyond rage. He lets out a humorless chuckle, the grin that settles on his face entirely mirthless. “I decided. Of course. I cannot believe it slipped my mind,” he comments icily, walking over to where she stands, stopping a mere breadth away, grin disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “I suppose you should get out of my way, then,” his voice grows mellow, though not at all warmer. “You don’t expect me to slink past you like a common servant, do you?”
during: after the latest plot drop before departing dorne
it was safe to say, arianne was wanting everyone to leave her home already. not only was her brother wedding celebration feast ended in a fight due to an unwarranted marriage, the disater of what came after the desert race was enough to make one want to hurl their insides. she had half a mind to poison the little runt for what he dared to do in the stables of her home. surely this would sour relations between the crown and dorne but she would not care. she had offered what she could to help treat the young lord from the North that had gotten hurt but it felt as if there was not much else she could do.
as she stared into the courtyard from one of the open windows watching the nobles, she let her thoughts flowed freely. "a stint in some fancy sept? that hardly makes it a punishment." she said. not caring who overheard her.
Maegor’s trial already delayed his departure and Vandal’s impatience adds to his own — a constant, throbbing presence where just a few days before he could still easily distract himself from feeling the distance between them like a nail in his head. It’s burrowed all the way into his marrow now, and the temper he usually takes great pride in keeping in check broils closer and closer to the surface with every silenced conversation he walks by, every furtive, accusatory, glances cast his way. It doesn’t matter that the king made the decision, Aenyx is nothing more than an extension of the crown. And as such, he cannot be seen to criticize his father’s ruling — it seems his betrothed has no such compunction, and she says it where anyone could hear, too.
He freezes for a moment, biting down on the sudden fury at the stupid carelessness of words spoken without bothering to see who they reach, and eventually he lets out a controlled breath, focusing his gaze on the bustle of the fleeing nobles outside. “It’s plenty punishing for him. Six years is a long time for one so young. And it’s an improbable ordeal to overcome, given his disposition,” the words come out flat, unfeeling, and Aenyx waits another beat before turning to face her. “I came to say my goodbyes, princess. I’ll be leaving soon,” he bows perfunctorily, anger still simmering, contained, but barely, making it impossible to pretend sentimentality.
"Oh, well" Your prince. How did Eleana mess up so badly with that? "Sod off!" She said in a tone that was meant to be intimidating, but came out as more of the squeak of a frustrated kitten.
In the Princess's mind, Aenyx was oblivious to the anger that radiated throughout Viserra's wedding. If the rest of the Martell's were gleefully ignoring it, Eleana would just follow her cousin's lead. There had to be a revolt soon, Eleana just knew it! "My mother's words are the strongest in Dorne, unlike yours" She crossed her arms, trying to avoid the squirming snake. "And I am sure she will agree to do something about me being treated like this by the Crown Prince" She would cry, squeal, anything to make a dramatic act in front of her mother.
In her defiance Eleana did not notice the head of the snake escaping her grip. Annoyed with being manhandled while an argument was going on, the boa had turned around and striked Eleana in the arm. The seering paper cut-like pain spread through her nerves, forcing the Princess to scream. "Now look what you've done!" She pointed an accusing finger to the Prince "I am going to tell Princess Deria, your father, and the entirety of Dorne!" She was well aware that the snakebite was nobody else's fault but her own, but that would hardly let her complete her goal of being as annoying as possible to Aenyx
Aenyx rolls his eyes at her curse, exasperation mounting into the beginning of a headache from having to deal with such a spoiled, childish runt. He’s failed to consider that antagonizing her might prolong her encroachment into his space. He takes a big gulp of his wine, hiding a second eye roll behind the movement at her fervent defense of her mother’s importance. As if it’s a great feat for her words to carry more weight than that of an enemy. Aenyx suspects an orphan of the Greenblood’s words weigh more than his to the Dornish. “Yeah, no shit,” he mutters, his stalling for time only further infuriating him.
He lets out a disbelieving laugh when she gets bitten, just as she threatened to tattle on him like they’re children still stuck in a nursey. That creature must have a flair for poetry — snakes eat rats, after all.
What he did?!
If the gods exist, they must be very bored with this charade. “Tell them what, exactly? That the snake you tried to leave in my room attacked you?” he almost hopes she would if it means he’ll finally be free of her presence. “The door’s wide open, princess. You and your beastie are free to leave.”
@bloomingrcse
when: same day as Maegor's trial, a little while after it's over
Things seem to be slipping more and more out of control and now Dorne’s cost them three dragonriders instead of one and Aenyx cannot wait to get the fuck out of this place. It feels like his father errs hardest when the eyes of the entire kingdom are on him, and he is sick of having to publicly justify rulings he doesn’t agree with. That Maegor wasn’t sentenced to death wasn’t much of a surprise, but even so Aegon showed exceeding leniency, choosing his sister’s peace of mind over his own. As if leaving Viserra behind when tempers boil as badly as their sun wouldn’t make her an even bigger target in a land that despised dragons and their ilk even before this latest cockup.
He opens the doors to the Tyrell apartments after a perfunctory knock, only to find them deserted. The entrances to other chambers further in are cracked open, dark and entirely empty. Aenyx swears under his breath, resolving to try his father next to find out when he can finally leave this place, but as he turns around he realize the way out is now blocked. His eyes meet Rosalyn’s and without the pretense of being in public silence stretches between them for a beat. Two beats.
By the third, Aenyx loses his patience. She hasn’t moved from the door. “Rose,” he nods his head in a dismissive greeting, her name casually falling from his lips. “When will you be leaving?” he hasn’t realized he started moving towards her and he stops, the distance between them now halved.
How dare he talk to her like this. How dare he insult Arianne like that! "I think very highly of Arianne unlike you!" Eleana screeched. The snake had to be put somewhere soon. It was already tensing up in her hand the more she yelled.
Damnit. This prince was going to be the death of her! All these stupid dragons only wanted more to own. More to dominate. If Eleana was slightly less of a chicken, she would do......something? She was not sure. The Princess hardly had the stomach for murder or malicious accidents. "At least me and my sister don't hoard the land like you and your sister do!" In all truth, Eleana had known King Aegon was driving most of it. But what could she even say to him? Stop intruding on me and my family? Gods, she hated being so powerless.
The Princess's jaw dropped. What did Aenyx just say?! She had to be careful not to lose too much composure. There was still a wild animal in her hand after all. "Of course you did not, my Prince. You and your ilk were too busy destroying the desert" There was venom to Eleana's words. "If you're looking for fun, I have heard the dungeons of Hellholt welcomed Targaryens in the past" Eleana managed to laugh at the small bit of cruelty she managed to conjure. The snake curled again, The Princess glances around for an open door or window to release it in.
She’s so easy to irritate — too easy — there’s barely any sport in it. “Well then,” he begins, smile resting easy on his face. “— you have a queer way of showing it,” what with trying so unsuccessfully to get on his nerves and all. He wonders what sort of upbringing Deria provided her youngest daughter for her to end up with such dearth in her political understanding.
Aenyx lets out an exasperated sigh and walks over to the refreshments table to pour himself a goblet of wine. He doesn’t bother offering her any. “We didn’t hoard land, Eleana — we integrated six kingdoms into one realm and put an end to their petty wars,” he turns to her, raising his glass in a mocking salute. “And we’ve forged peace with yours too by binding our families together,” he takes a sip of the wine, an eyebrow quirking cynically at her sudden vitriol.
“Your prince?” he questions, a teasing lilt to his voice, his grin widening at her pathetic attempt at malice. It isn’t the first time he’s heard the rumor that Rhaenys survived her dragon’s death, and while he still doesn’t know what truly happened to her, he has little doubt she’s long dead by now, regardless. Whether by succumbing to her injuries after Meraxes’ fall, or perhaps killed by dragonfire during the grief fueled rage of her siblings’ rampage — he’s had a decade to come to terms with her demise and his affection for her has only ever been lukewarm at best, there is no point in yielding to Eleana’s perception of a pain he doesn’t feel.
“I hear there’s more Dornish houses who’d welcome us into their dungeons, alas, I cannot imagine any will dare it,” his grin darkens into a dismissive smirk, head canting to one side. “Or is your mother’s word worthless?” Aenyx suspects it is, in fact. Deria’s hold on her vassals seems tenuous at best. It’s one of a number of reasons he feels so ill at ease with the betrothals.
"It is so good of you to come. I feared that you'd be busy pouting about being in Dorne, instead of meeting me here." Viserra jested with him, her brows tense as she clearly had something festering in the back of her mind. "Sit, sit, we have much to talk about. Like how much mom and dad miss me and how boring home is without me."
It’s been a long time since Aenyx’s had a kitten and he’s forgotten how annoying they could get. He loosely shakes his leg to get the hellion off his trousers, before throwing himself on the proffered seat, an eyebrow immediately lifting at Viserra’s choice of descriptor. “I got all my pouting done and over with on the way here,” he half-rolls his eyes, grabbing a hold of Roast as he jumps onto his lap. “An awful lot, I’m sure,” he scratches the kitten’s head. “And probably very,” he cants his head to one side. “So what is this about? How pleased you ultimately turned out to be with father’s choice of groom? I can already tell,” yes, he feels a little bitter about it, more so when he thinks about his own betrothal, but there’s not even an echo of it in his words. “I’m…” he fishes about for an appropriate term. “…relieved for you, really.”
Rosalyn did not pull her hand away. For one fleeting, treacherous moment, her fingers tightened around his as though she could already feel it: the wind, the distance, the terrible, intoxicating freedom of it. No court. No expectations. No watching eyes. Just him. Just them.
She could see it so vividly it almost frightened her. The horizon stretching endlessly ahead, the world reduced to something simple, something theirs. It felt close enough to touch. As real as the warmth of his hand around hers. And yet– It wasn’t.
There had been a part of her that had hoped he would ruin it. That he would say something cruel, something arrogant or dismissive, something unmistakably him that would remind her exactly why this could never work. Something that would turn him back into someone she could leave behind without hesitation. It would have been cleaner. Easier.
Or perhaps she had simply read too many stories, filled her head with impossible endings, the sort that did not belong to people like them. The sort where the world shifted just enough to make room for something that was never meant to survive within it. But the world did not bend. And he did not make it easy.
The silence stretched between them, fragile beneath the weight of what he had offered and what she could not bear to answer.
Because that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? There was no ending here that did not demand the destruction of something. He had given her something. Not what she had asked for, not what she could safely accept, but something real enough to undo her all the same.
What then?
The question settled heavily inside her, pulling her back from that shimmering illusion. What would become of them once the distance lost its novelty? Once the silence between them grew too loud? Once there was nothing left to outrun? More frightening still, what would become of her?
Her family needs her. The thought came immediately, grounding and suffocating all at once. But even that was not the heart of it. The terrible truth was that she did not know who she would be without it all.
Without the court. Without the endless dance of whispers and glances and careful smiles. Without the music, the feasts, the politics disguised as affection. Without the delicate, exhausting performance of being a Tyrell.
She liked it. Gods forgive her, she liked it.
She liked being admired. She liked being listened to. She liked the quiet influence hidden beneath silk and courtesy, the way rooms shifted around her when she entered them. She liked belonging to something larger than herself, even when it threatened to consume her whole.
And perhaps that made her weak. Or shallow. Or exactly what her mother had shaped her into. But it made her herself.
Her gaze lifted to his again, unbearably steady despite the ache beneath it.
“I do not know if you truly mean it,” she admitted softly. Her fingers loosened from his at last, though slowly, reluctantly. “But I will not make a promise I do not know how to keep.” The warmth of his hand disappeared, and suddenly the night felt colder than it should have.
“I am leaving,” she said then, quieter now. “My brother is to be wed in the North. I will be expected there. And afterward… Princess Viserra will require me in Dorne.”
“When that time comes, I hope we will see one another again.” The faintest curve touched her mouth then, fragile enough to disappear if either of them breathed too sharply.
For a moment longer she lingered there, caught between staying and going, between wanting and knowing better. Then she inclined her head, graceful and devastatingly formal once more.
"Hey!" Eleana screeched before the snake caught her right between the eyes. The poor thing was thrashing with terror of being thrown. "Oh of course you would have a snake killer. Do you Targaryens hate everything that's fun?!" The Princess of Dorne scrambled to catch it, knocking over a side table trying to dive for it. Once the Princess had the snake in hand, she then tucked the it away in her pocket.
If Deria found out about her antics she would surely scold Eleana, and for some reason she was more afraid of that then whatever King Aegon may accuse her of for leaving a snake in his son's bed. Eleana crossed her arms "You brought this upon yourself by agreeing to be betrothed to my sister, I hope you know" The snake wriggled in her pocket. She would need to find a way to release it without any of the guards noticing and telling her mother. "You just had to go through with it instead of going away"
"How did you know there was a snake in the bed anyway?!" The Princess whined. Aenyx had outsmarted her, that should not have been fair. Eleana was sure Aenyx had always been as dull as he was now, there should have been no way for him to know her tricks!
“Oh, but I’m having fun right now,” Aenyx comments as he looks at her flap around after her cursed snake, knocking over furniture. An exaggeration, to be fair — he’d rather not watch her at all, even over watching her make a fool of herself.
An opinion which is proved correct mere seconds later with her next utterance. Sure, it could be said he agreed to marry her sister, if doing as his king commanded required anything more than a nominal acquiescence on his part. But she seems too simple a creature to acknowledge such realities. “I’m a very lucky man,” he smirks, walking over to the table she knocked down and righting it. “If you thought a mere snake would dissuade me from it you must have a pretty low opinion of your sister.” Eleana is the least of the problems Arianne is going to bring into his life, evidenced by her choice of deterrent. A country crawling with poisonous things and she chooses one who isn’t. All bark and no bite, this girl, and even that, the annoying, high-pitched one of a shoe-sized dog.
Good thing it’s Viserra who’s gonna be stuck with her for the next while, otherwise she might have ended up encountering an untimely end on Dragonstone. Those cliffs could be very treacherous, after all. Especially for those not accustomed to how slippery wet stone is. He lifts a curious eyebrow, not bothering to hide his glancing back at the disturbed corner of the bed. Did she not even realize her snake fell off even before he got here? “I’m a dragonlord, princess. It comes with unexpected perks,” he gives a shit-eating grin, sarcasm heavy. “So, tell me, what is fun to do around here? Last time I spent any significant amount of time in Dorne was on dragonback, didn’t get much of a chance to see your people go about their usual days."
