never mind, death professor

rhaegar targaryen, 2012 PM candidate [email protected] part of blood & glory, not affiliated with GRRM.

[rtargaryens-blog]

my old house, my childhood's tomb [june 21, viserys targaryen]

[dragonbred]

“I never said he was a saint,” Viserys protests in a rush, talking quickly to outrun his brother’s new-found anger.  If he ignores it, talks around it, leaves it behind, Rhaegar will forget.  He’s always been good at forgetting.  “I know he’s not, I know—…”  The sentence hangs open.  Viserys mouths air, lost.  He doesn’t know how to say what he knows; he’s been taught all his life to pretend it doesn’t exist.  Keep your eyes down, stay quiet, stay small.  He thinks of the bruises on his mother’s arms and feels sick.

“He’s hard to get along with,” Viserys says finally, setting each word out carefully.  He’s sure Rhaegar can see through them; his stare is pleading.  “But he’s our father.”  He hazards a smile.  The more he repeats old lines to himself, the stronger they feel, the more assured of them he sounds.  “He’s a great man.”

He is.  Aerys Targaryen, no matter what his detractors hiss, is a great man.  Commanding, powerful.  Men go quiet when he enters a room; Viserys desperately wants to share that effect.  If he can’t have power or love, he’ll gladly take fear.

He wets his lips.  “All of this is just…”  His smile trembles.  “A misunderstanding.  I’ll apologize.  If— if that’s what you want.  Better than last time.”

[rtargaryens-blog]

He finds rage all consuming of him, like wearing the Targaryen mantle and in turn letting the mantle wear him. Wrapping his bones in sinew that is foreign and familiar too, at one time there was that fire in him that grew with hate and rebellion and a passiveness that watched as his father grew in the same way. (A watch that ended when it came to Viserys.)

Shrouds of pity flit in and out; watching his (only, younger, horribly misunderstood and horribly mistreated) brother try twist like a snake out of his grasp - move around what blocks him and do it in silence and silhouettes of what is really there (a poison filled fang, perhaps.)

He's a great man, the lie is almost deafening, like a scream that cuts through pauses. Rhaegar flounders for words - a great man, apologizing. He stays silent for a moment, watching, like he used to. 

Just watching. 

"No," he manages out, his voice sounds tired to even himself and it isn't shocking to him. "Leave." 

"You're done here - you're done..." his tone raises. "You're done destroying this fucking family. Leave."

[rtargaryens-blog]

get your guns out (with cersei lannister, may 30-june 2)

[cersei-lnnstr]

Of course he would deny the anger; she wonders, if the tables were turned, would she do the same? Keep the rage inside, clawing at her soul until there was little left? Would she let it change who she was, make her forget all that was in her life until she saw nothing but herself? Cersei nods, knowing it would not be wise to press him; he would only lie, and lie again. He was good at that. He had told her he loved her (and so had she, many times) and once she had even believed him.

“Twenty years,” she repeats, shaking her head. Joffrey is almost nineteen, and she truly doesn’t know where her life has gone, or why it has gone by so fast. She barely remembers being twenty, but the again when she was twenty she was with him, so maybe it’s better to forget. What use could that be, now of all times? “When you say it, it sounds like a lifetime.”

Rhaegar doesn’t trust her. Or maybe he just doesn’t trust his brother, but still he asks her to take a step back. And Cersei knows she can’t, her stake lay in Viserys Targaryen and, as much as she likes to keep that to herself, in the man sitting beside her. “I don’t want to corrupt him,” she says, her hand flying up to his chin and forcing his head to the side, forcing him to look at her and really see her instead of barely glancing in her general direction. “I have done a lot of things, but I won’t add your brother to the dead weight on my shoulders.” She smiles at that, squeeze the skin beneath her fingernails and drops her arm at her side again. 

“He seems to have taken a liking to me,” she continues, tilting her head to the side and shaking her head as if she can’t even explain to herself why Viserys Targaryen would be swayed by a Lannister, the worst of the lions perhaps. “Your brother trusts me, and he barely even knows me. You knew me for years, and still I see you flinching because of what my brother and father have done to your family.” It should have come out as a spiteful accusation, but instead it is a serene acceptance. She can’t blame him. A name is not just a name, not for them.

“I am not trying to harm you, Rhaegar,” she adds, rolling her eyes with a deep sigh. It’s like fighting a wall of bricks, in the end. It’s proof he needs. “I-” Viserys’s call just an hour before comes to mind. “I can prove it to you.”

[rtargaryens-blog]

"Of course you can," he sais with dead weight and dead tones behind his voice, sarcasm there perhaps though unarmoured - there isn't anything sure in him anymore, anything trusting or anything - maybe - at all. Perhaps it's over dramatic (he takes after his father in some ways), or perhaps he is right and his delusions of death are true.

Perhaps he's living in some circle of hell, doomed to take the consequences of his mistakes and atone for them. Martyr himself for the Targaryen cause - a name he never dared to wear (perhaps he did not want to).

"What is it you lot like to tout? A Lannister can always explain a suspicious encounter?" Rhaegar smiles at her, at the sun flitting from the glass pane across the room to the gold in her hair.

"Or maybe 'a Lannister always has an excuse'?" He's reaching, attempting to be meaner, more admirable - more forcible, respectable, liked, feared, more his father. More a Targaryen should be, in the face of a slight (or what can be a slight, he thinks - he had never pretended to know Cersei, even engaged to her, sleeping with her, sitting at breakfast barely awake - with her - he had known her name and barely underneath her skin).

He would be lying if she weren't a sight, though. She always was, in a way Elia was different and Rhaegar thinks maybe it's unfair to compare the two women - unfair to judge Cersei against Elia whom he- (Loved? Betrayed? He isn't quit sure. He's never sure.)

To think about Elia when he's in a room with someone else - to think about her when he can't face his daughter. To call Cersei some ray of sunlight with her gold, against Elia whom he always knew was the sun itself.

He leans in, a quiet movement, and doesn't trust her.

He kisses her anyway.

[adragonviper-blog]

it gets swallowed by a wave [rhaenys & rhaegar, july 26th]

[adragonviper-blog]

Rhaneys does not know her father’s favorite color or how he takes his coffee, his favorite band or song, his favorite football team. She doesn’t know how her parents met or fell in love or how he proposed or why they set a December wedding date. She can’t wonder what Rhaegar doesn’t know about her, that would cut too close to her heart, leaving an open, pulsating wound in its wake. Her father had kept them in America, left to the care of guardians, visits frequent in the first few years before tapering off.

“Why shouldn’t I worry about it?” She looked around the kitchen, as if appliances could field the question, “And I don’t think a blood test would answer it. She died of a heart condition, not a blood one. A finger prick can’t tell if the heart is weak.” It sounds more right than a simple blood test and the urge of necessity is behind her words.

It’s a weak excuse, in any case, and she’s surprised he even offered one. Silence was her father’s shield, words too laced with emotions or pain to use. Her father looks at the floor, at his feet, at anything but her when he talks. It stings like a slap. Maybe she is too painful to hold close and embrace, maybe her father would be happier if she had never returned to London, had remained in America alone and half-forgotten, a deadened weight clinking into place on her chest as she softly asks, “Why won’t you look at me?”

[rtargaryens-blog]

He considers her plea in his mind, hearing Elia's voice in the same tone with the same hurt inquisition. Rhaegar isn't sure what to tell her in this moment - you remind me of your dead mother, whom I couldn't look at either.

She was too fragile, and Rhaenys is too similar but she's strong instead. He doesn't have to sit alone in his office, festering in the clinging smells of whiskey and cigarettes praying to a god he isn't sure he believes in that she'll live.

Rhaenys is strong as Elia was strong in will and spirit and whatever else Oberyn said at the funeral, promising the rest of the family she was in a better place. Rhaegar stayed silent save for pleasantries (even then they were brief and short tempered and showed, perhaps, he is still a Targaryen underneath). He knew Elia was a power of will, but nobody else needed to. People whom had never met her didn't deserve to know. People coming for Rhaegar - for Aerys, but not for Elia or any Martell.

He doesn't look at her, still though. Standing there trying to make him face her - he's a coward where she isn't (like her mother, unsurprisingly). 

"Rhaenys," he says hoarsely and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I - we shouldn't have to discuss this. You were a healthy child, you're a healthy adult. Heart conditions don't just..." he throws his hands up, "arise out of thin air."

He isn't sure if that's the truth or not - heart conditions could (for all Rhaegar knew) start in the blink of an eye and kill in the bat of a lash. He'd prefer she'd let it go, not look into the records where red print surely is slapped on - Targaryen heir proxy-murdered his wife. 

"Is there anything else you need?" Avoid, avoid and evade and don't look her in the eye. 

[buzzfeed]

This photo of Daniel Craig in the 90s is the worst thing in the whole world.

[isitscary]

The original Lestat de Lioncourt. 

[dragonbred]

we sit in ashes [birthday fic for grayyyyyyyyy]

title: we sit in ashes pairing: b&g rhaegar/viserys yep warnings: tw: abuse, brotherly handjobs notes: FOR YOU GRAY!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIKE A MILLION WEEKS LATE I’M SORRY I’M TERRIBLE!!!  ALSO YOU ASKED FOR HAPPY RHAEGAR/VISERYS MAN THAT SHIT DOESN’T COME EASY EHEHE COME i hope u like itttt muah muah xx

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[adragonviper-blog]

Targaryens were always meant to be fractured

[rtargaryens-blog]

tell the thoughts of hell [closed to viserys, august 7]

[dragonbred]

He struggles to follow his brother’s fractured answers.  No, yes, I don’t think so.  Each leads him one direction, then the other, and he trails them until he’s dizzy.

“Why—”  Without thinking he tries to sit up.  He tries to draw up his arms, to edge onto his elbows, but his wrists are pinned down.  What started as a casual movement becomes a jerk; he lifts his head enough to see the brown cuffs around his wrists and his eyes go round.  “Why am I—  why am I tied down…?  Rhaegar—…”

Something in his veins keeps him heavy, muffles the panic coursing up his throat, trembling in his stomach.  There’s a needle in his arm.  Needle, he seizes on suddenly.  Someone stuck me with a—

The courtroom rushes back.  He can’t make sense of his own memories; they’re muddled, exaggerated as scenes from a dream.  He remembers shrinking.  Goosepimples prickle his skin, and Viserys eases back against the pillow with wide-eyed caution, as if afraid sudden movement might rush the officers back into his room.

“I,” he starts, and he can’t look at his brother when he says it, “I saw things.”  Again, a hideous part of him whispers.  “Something was wrong.”

[rtargaryens-blog]

"Precaution," Rhaegar says softly. "So you don't hurt yourself." Or others, he doesn't mention to him; omitting answer after answer, trying feebly to protect his brother (the brother he should hate, whom he should get up and walk away from.

The brother who'd caused him more trouble than Rhaegar could handle in his own home. A brother he should leave laying there, were he someone else. He watches Viserys lay in the bed, strapped down and drugged again, his eyes red and skin swallowed. Rhaegar wonders, only briefly and maybe from a lack of sleep, if this is the person Viserys really is when the guise of Aerys is ripped off.)

"You were high," he says more flatly than he should have, more lightly. "They," he gestures to the door, "said toxicology found PCP in you." 

He stares at the leather straps around his brothers wrists, the way they pull against his skin and the metal both when he tries to sit up. 

He feels badly for Viserys, and looks at the doorway for brief moment, surveying it for the patrolling nurses, before undoing the strap closest to himself. "Why," he leans back into the uncomfortable chair again and takes a deep breath.

Like a bandaid.

"Why did you... take it?" 

[rtargaryens-blog]

my old house, my childhood's tomb [june 21, viserys targaryen]

[dragonbred]

Leave.

Only a few months ago they’d stood on the front lawn together.  I wouldn’t have made you leave, Rhaegar had said, and Viserys hadn’t believed him.  Now, when he’s ordering him gone, Viserys can’t believe it either.  He stares; he suddenly feels very small.

His first defense - defiance - lifts his chin, though he’s sure Rhaegar can see the nervous bob of his throat.  “You don’t mean that.  You know she’s being ridiculous.”  The couch groans when he shifts positions, his legs aching.  He swallows.  “And in any case, why wouldn’t I want to be like him?”  His eyes search Rhaegar’s for commiseration; he desperately needs a sign that his brother will maintain the same fiction he does.  “You can’t believe what the press say.  They’re jealous.”

His second defense: hatred, as jealousy, becomes laughable.  Of course they dislike you, he’s told himself in the mirror a thousand times, they want to be you.  Who wouldn’t trade places with him, Viserys Targaryen, son of the (great) former Prime Minister?  The fiction is well-worn; its holes nearly show through in places, and he can’t look at it too closely.

Viserys forces a tight, sympathetic smile.  “You can tell her you’ve shouted at me and it’s— it’s done.  That’s all you need to do.”

[rtargaryens-blog]

"I don't need the press to tell me what Aerys is like." He spits and is surprised by the unrelenting venom there. "I don't need you to pretend he's a fucking saint, either, Viserys." This horrible lie Aerys has created and read to his children every night, while the night lights were dim and their mother was cowering or dead.

His heart doesn't feel heavy, looking at his brother now. Like looking at his father again and again and yelling at him over and over. Watching a spiral come to pass with Viserys; she isn't dead, drop it, don't be weak.

Don't ask questions.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

Don't talk back to me, boy.

He makes a fist and the nails bite into his palm, cutting there and he squeezes tighter to keep from hitting something, breaking into a rage like only a Targaryen could (like a Targaryen should, he remembers.)

"Ridiculous," the word tastes rotten in his mouth, like he's agreed with Viserys and he isn't angry and he doesn't want him gone. "Are you - what," He flounders for words; for something to say other than to swear and pick him up and throw him out.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous," he throws it back and sneers. His brother is his father and as far as Rhaegar is concerned it's easier to encourage a fire - let it snuff itself out, rather than exert the effort to douse it only to fail. They're each other and yelling at one feels like yelling at the other.

"No," he frowns and crosses his arms. "No. You have to leave."

[rtargaryens-blog]

Visit Original Link

[rtargaryens-blog]

[dragonbred]

Rhaegar Targaryen, MP Saffron Walden

#dRAGONS CANNOT BE BURnEd #would you fight a dragon????? nO SO STOP IT

[cersei-lnnstr]

blood and glory meme | six quotes [6/6] rhaegar targaryen

[…] but Rhaegar considers himself partially selfish and more a martyr; maybe a masochist and maybe a saint and thinks of the dead instead.

[dragonbred]

a taste of blood [closed; rhaegar & viserys]

[dragonbred]

Another car goes by; cold dawn starts to warm into morning, and Viserys feels unwelcome in the sunlight.  He turns, the grass clinging to his bare feet, and squints at his brother.  The lined face, the heavy brow - will he look like this in twenty years?  Rhaegar is an aging replica of their father, but one made by a half-hearted artist.  Already he looks ready to be put away on a shelf.

“People?” he asks.  “Or you?”  Did you ever love us?  Did you ever even protest when our father suggested America?  Rhaegar the shadow.  It’s no wonder everyone sees their father in Viserys; he’s the only one of the two with any real conviction.

Viserys shivers and trudges back towards the doors, his shoulders hunched.  “We will be loved,” he says as he passes his brother.  “If you don’t think so, what the fuck are you in it for?”

[rtargaryens-blog]

"People," he says half heartedly and almost sarcastically. He knows what Viserys thinks; that he doesn't care and that he left them in America so he wouldn't have to be around his children and siblings. 

Rhaegar knows that his children and siblings blame him; he knows that there is a rift there the size of a canyon and the speed of rushing blood in veins, he knows that he caused it by putting an ocean between them. 

By not creating a bridge of telephone wires and planes.

What the fuck are you in it for? It bites him to be asked - to have that thrown in his face. Viserys doesn't know, though, that this is his punishment; bowing to Aerys' lifelong wish, being dragged behind his name that he passed to Rhaegar himself. Keel hauled underneath the red dragons and up the side of death.

This is punishment for killing Elia; penance for living.

"For," he doesn't know. He swallows and looks into the sun, it's very bright now - coming through the grey and he squints. The scent of smoke clings to Viserys and it's familiar (he hates it that much more).

He can't tell him he doesn't know, he can't tell him the truth either. So he turns his back to the sun and to his brother, and walks back into the house.

[targaryen-dany-blog]

i want to be a monster like you | closed: rhaegar and dany [7.22.2012]

[targaryen-dany-blog]

Dany doesn’t know what to say, to this stranger, and so worries the edge of her shirt. “Is it true?” she asks softly, “what he…” She trails off because in her gut she knows it is true. There’s always been a dangerous sort of violence, an animalism that pressed close to his too thin skin.

“Nevermind. It has to be.” She swallows, saliva like sandpaper in her esophagus, and swallows back bile and grief and sadness and lets it congeal in a sickness at the back of her throat. “He wouldn’t have left, if it wasn’t. I—I didn’t go with him. He asked me to, but I decided to stay. Here.”

She hadn’t meant to say it like that, something akin to choosing. It came down to choosing you and over him, and I had to choose you. Because it hadn’t been like that, hadn’t even been that close to anything resembling affection or love of family ties. Dany had recognized, somewhere at the back of her mind, that going with Viserys would be like a willing march to the gallows, so she had stayed. Self-preservation, at the end, always carried the day.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted—wanted me to leave?” It’s always been her and Viserys, as far back as Dany’s memories goes. His punishments became her punishments, and she feels like a kite cut from its tethered, carried with the whims with the wind. She doesn’t know what to do with Viserys gone now. What it even means for her.

She wants to say what do I do now? Who am I now? If I’m not Viserys’s sister. I’ve never even considered being anything else, not even once. And it isn’t fair of her, to come to him and ask for some sort of absolution, some sort of anchor, but Rhaegar has always been like a star to her, far and out of her reach but unquestionably solid and bright and strong.

[rtargaryens-blog]

Good, he almost says to her. He intended to keep her away from Viserys, he'd told Jon, and he thinks he can at least keep that promise. Keep Dany away from their brother so he can't harm more people - keep everyone away from Viserys so he can only stew in himself.

So they don't have to step over and around the broken shards of glass that may or may not be laying on a camouflaged floor, skirting around the corners like Rhaegar did as a child. Becoming a shadow around Aerys. 

That is what hurts most; that Dany and his children were subjected to a mirror image of his father. He'd hoped America had spared them that, but he knows Aerys thinks himself a god and omnipotence breeds belief (especially for the Targaryens, who align themselves with dragons sleeping under cities). You can't escape supremacy. 

"No," it's dragged out of him. "No." He has never thought of Daenerys as separate from Viserys, and that is his fault - he'd never bothered to truly visit more than a handful of times after she was born. 

"No, I don't want you to leave. Why would you... think that?"

[rtargaryens-blog]

get your guns out (with cersei lannister, may 30-june 2)

[cersei-lnnstr]

She watches as he stumbles upon his words, saying thing he doesn’t even fully understand maybe. He lost his mother too, but he was older. He is still a child at that, always has been when it came to Viserys, and Rhaella, and his family in general. One of those rich, burgeois children who think the world is against them and no one loves them enough, not as much as they deserve. He and Viserys are more similar than they know, yet they fail to aknowledge it, both hiding behind their armours: Rhaegar locked up in his self-pity, Viserys drowning in his egomaniacal issues.

And then it’s like Elia Martell herself walks into the room, in all of her glory, and she hates that he mentions her, hates that he is standing ther and telling her about his wife’s death. She hates the word wife, and she hates it because in another universe, it would have been her.

It’s not jealousy, she never truly felt for Rhaegar anything more than companionship, but it irks her that some lessen woman - (Elia is not Cersei, Cersei is better than any Martell, anyday) - it irks her that some lessen woman got what she had not had. Little does it matter that she is the one who threw it all away, still it annoys her and she wishes Elia would just go away. Yet there the memory stands, and she can almost see her standing next to Rhaegar, looking at her and asking her what she hoped to achieve.

The ghost fades when Rhaegar sits down next to her, and his shoulder brushes against hers; Cersei looks away, feeling like an intruder. This was inappropriate. He should not speak of Elia, their marriage, and not of her death. Cersei knows. Cersei knows that Elia’s death was not just a fatality, knows that if she dug deep enough she would find her father’s fingerprints all over it, maybe even Aerys’s. She never bothered. The truth would hurt, and she’d rather live not knowing.

“That was so long ago,” she says, still looking away, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, in the opposite direction of Rhaegar, but he’s there and she can touch him, and it is just so inappropriate with Elia’s memory hanging around them. “It wasn’t your fault. You can’t keep beating yourself up. It wasn’t-” she pauses and swallows, and then she places a hand on the shoulder that touches hers and she squeezes it (but she still doesn’t dare looking at him). “It wasn’t you.” Cersei retracts her hand quickly, fearing if she kept it a second longer his skin might burn and so would hers. Targaryens and Lannisters, it’s really a matter of combustion, something they teach in school. They just can’t go together. But we did, once.

“You need to let the anger go, Rhaegar,” she murmurs, and that’s an advice she has not been able to follow herself, so who is she to tell him to forget his dead wife when she can’t let go of her brother? “You have children, now.” 

(Pot, meet kettle.)

[rtargaryens-blog]

"I'm not angry," he says quickly and the fervour in his voice surprises him. It doesn't sound like the words he would choose (he is angry, somewhere inside; angry at his father who forced him into this awful arena where men lie just to win and fuck the people, where his brother isn't well and he's angry his children were raised by each other and Lemore, he's angry his wife died and he didn't follow her).

"I'm not angry," he says again and calmly, he was always good at lying. He does not mention to Cersei that it was him, it is his fault. He deserves misery and this burdened mantle that death placed on him when he was younger.

"I've had children for twenty years and it seems that doesn't change anything," Rhaegar pretends at facetiousness with her, and his smile is only a tight line of a mouth. "I've got a lot of things and they don't really change anything otherwise."

Rhaegar knows that he and Cersei are similar sometimes, she has her children too and Robert (whom he hates not only for usurping but for endangering his family and for being a general fuck, and though he'd never admit it sometimes he hates Robert for taking Cersei. It pleases him, secretly, that he'll be left alone to die; left with the government he wanted so badly he needed to endorse threats toward children, left with the people who now hate him as they hated Aerys.) She was always better than him, Cersei. Better than the both of them and always a wall of steel or brick and mortar - she doesn't crumble as easily. 

Lannisters never do, though. That is what comes between their families - they won't capitulate and they'll crawl before they admit their legs are gone.

There is a pause between them. "Don't give Viserys any ideas - please." He thinks perhaps his brother leans too much on the memories he was denied; on the absent and angry father and his distant and then dead mother.

On Elia promising him she'd be alright. Rhaegar thinks then that maybe Viserys is built on lies and somewhere that is his fault too. "Take care of yourself, don't worry about him." All in one breath. 

[rtargaryens-blog]

Rhaegar Targaryen, MP Saffron Walden

[adragonviper-blog]

it gets swallowed by a wave [rhaenys & rhaegar, july 26th]

[adragonviper-blog]

It’s inaudible but it’s still there, the way her father shuts the door on her. The pen glides through her grasp and Rhaenys can’t place her hands in her lap like a good girl, instead she leans on her elbows, eyes following Rhaegar as he clears the table, clears away the conversation, clears away the discomfort and grief that arises whenever her mother is mentioned (whenever Rhaenys is with him, it seems, his children an undeniable mark of what he lost).

“I know that,” she bites back on her irritation, letting the words fall in simple acknowledgement, “I know that,” she repeats, glancing back to the papers. The form is right on top, MEDICAL RELEASE in bold capitalization across the heading. “But what if it’s genetic?”

There is truth in her edged words, a sliver of fear that the same weakness, the same defect that ripped her mother from her life could be lurking inside her, gnawing at her strength, her energy. “What if - when I have children and I pass it on to them? That’s why I want to know. Dad,” she tries to get Rhaegar to meet her eyes but he always slips away from eye contact.

Children are of odd quality to her; theoretically she does like children, she loves Oberyn’s youngest two but they are older, less childish, less in the way. Her stomach twists at the thought of having them herself. Giving up your life to have a child, to place another’s welfare above her own, the responsibility and weight of a life dependent on you - or to abandon it completely when it’s older. I wouldn’t even know how to parent. Childbirth claimed the lives of both her grandmother and mother and if both of them died, why would a third Targaryen be spared?

[rtargaryens-blog]

He doesn't sit down again but instead leans against the counter, trying to think of how to tell his daughter No, don't look into it. No, you don't need to look into it. No, nobody else in this family will ever die like that. No, it was me - I killed your mother. No.

He doesn't look at her, either. It's like an acknowledgment of sickness and weakness, to look Rhaenys in the eye. Like Elia is still there somewhere in his children, lingering and he feels his chest tighten suddenly - wishing again he could tell her to drop it.

It doesn't work, telling his daughter to forget things, since she was a child she was stubborn and partly bossy and mostly like her mother and less like him.

"You shouldn't worry about that - don't worry about it." He corrects himself and stands straighter. "You can get a blood test if you need to know." Rhaegar thinks that sounds right, a blood test would tell her if she were sick. He isn't sure they would have Elia's blood conditions on file (even if they did, he doesn't trust hospitals and doesn't trust them to tell her the truth). It's less invasive, less reminding.

It feels less like there will be a glaring red print 'your father did it, your father killed her' stamped to the file, waiting for her to see.

[rtargaryens-blog]

jonstarksnow replied to your photo: blood and glory meme: [seven characters] jon snow

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