it were as though ice itself had crept up the walls of daemon targaryen’s audience chamber, a still but deadly silence suffocating the two subjects of the crownlands that stood within it - for yes, whilst daemon targaryen wore the dragon crown and controlled the might of the targaryen’s themselves, even he himself was a subject to a legacy that was much larger than he, anari, every soul stood and walking the length and breadth of westeros. his demeanor was as hard as it had always been, not seeing a crack of emotion in the stone the targaryens had created within the chaos and the bloodshed that was turning on one another - though his sharp mind caught onto the slight tremble and desperation that seemed to cling to anari darklyn like a dark cloud she was unable to shake.
and it did nothing to him. it filled him with no concern nor worry, nor any dread or anticipation of what she would possibly tell him; gods knew if he was able to turn on his own blood, if he was able to plan and move and listen on the black prince’s plans to kill his own blood, the gods knews he was able to feel nothing, less than nothing, to the woman that had once been a constant in the court of the blacks.
her words cracked the tense silence sat between them, almost as though there was a ledge, and for a moment it were as though he did not hear her at all. in truth, he heard her loud and clear; only, he had no care for the words she had uttered to him, for whether they were lies or by some chance encounter truth, it still meant nothing to him. “you have a son.” his words were flat, cold, and dark; the only children the dragon king cared for were those in which he would bring into the world with the woman he loved, the woman he cherished, and the woman that had stood by him for so many years.
“and he has a traitorous bitch for a mother. i know not what plots you play, what schemes you have concocted for whoever’s whore you play now, lion, rose, or serpent. believe me, me and my family will play no part in it. get out, whilst you can.”
THERE HAD NEVER BEEN A SINGLE ounce of hope when entering the dragon’s den. the once lady darklyn knew very well that the fire of dragon that burned within the veins of the dragon king would pay her no kindness when standing before him. he had spared her, that much she knew. regardless of whether or not she would show him that she understood that, deep down, the mere fact he hadn’t taken her head meant something. something she would never dwell on. it had been twelve winters since their son’s birth. twelve winters that she had endured herself, as was her choice. the consequences of her own actions and yet she would go through every hardship again if it meant having her son. everything had been worth it. he had made her a mother, whether he acknowledged it or not. there was nostalgia in watching the silver haired, lilac orbed boy grow.
nostalgia in the desperation of a new mother, overwhelmed by the cries of a baby boy, loud and obvious. as though he was being so clear in what he needed and she still could not pinpoint it. but she had learned. an inexperienced mother had learned her son’s cries, she spoke his language - fluently. anari had made it her goal to know her son, her perfect baby boy. she had experienced it all, his first steps, the very first time he had spoken, called out for her in a language everyone else understood. she had been everything to him. selfishly, as her mother often warned her. you can give him a better life, a safer life, if you tell the king. but she couldn’t. she wasn’t ready. or at least, she had not been. but times were changing and anari could not and would not condemn her son to a life of a prisoner. forever stuck on lands that did not belong to him..
the cold harsh words of the dragon king do nothing to shift the features of the pirate queen. jaws parting slightly to allow pearly teeth to grab hold of her tongue, literally needing to bite her tongue. she was not here to fight. nor was she going to allow the denial of the silver haired man to shift her demeanor. ❝ i have a son, ❞ the raven haired woman nods, features at ease. ❝ and so do you. ❞ the king continues, digging at her as though he was aware of the alliances she had secretly formed with the greens. but she is just as good as playing a part, of keeping her composure despite their last interaction. it was the targaryens that were always successful in stirring her emotions so much so that the fire in their veins spewed from her lips. harsh. burning. unrelenting. just as he was, as she always knew he had been. despite the tenderness in his touch that fateful night.
daemon of house targaryen was quick to blame her, blind to his own actions, his own fault in her hardships. but she would not allow him to remain blind to their son. he would not make a villain out of their son nor would he make him a casualty to his lack of judgement, she would never allow it. ❝ you made me a whore. and i resent you for nothing, daemon targaryen for the only good thing you have ever done for me is father that boy. my boy. ❞ her tone is hushed, after all, said boy stood mere feet away from the door. ❝ you were meant to represent me, as my once true and only king. you were meant to protect me and my family. all you have done is blame me for choices you have made. ❞ get out. venom continued to lace his words, regardless of the vulnerability in hers. he stood before her, petty, resentful and spiteful. things she, too, was. but not when it came to aerion. ❝ i need you to do for him, everything you did not do for me. ❞
while her frame does turn, her back to him, it is not at all to leave. steps echo, tense yet graceful - and the only other sound is the opening of the door. lilac hues meet hers, lifting upon registering the sound. a hand is outstretched, offered to him. the lithe frame of her son slips past her pirates, moving just barely into the room before the hood shielding his platinum locks is lowered. she watches the king, silently praying to every single god - the old and the new, that daemon of house targaryen spare her one more time. a hand moves, delicately setting the hood back over his head a couple of moments later, before her head gestures towards the hall.
❝ henujagon īlva naejot ȳzaldrīzes, dōna valītsos. ❞ she had whispered the words of old valyria, a tongue not lost on her, after all - she traveled. and she had taught her kids, aerion especially. as was only fair... after all, it was the tongue of his ancestors. watching as the young boy hesitantly moved back out to the corridor. she would not have her son experience the sharp and harsh tongue of his father. he deserved to look up to him, regardless of his true temper - anari wished for aerion to see his father as a good man, fair and just. a boy should look up to his father. ❝ should anything happen to me, i ask that you protect him. please, daemon. ❞
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