@darilarossa ; ❝ still, night falls for all of us in the end, and too soon for some. ❞ | aegon iii
warmth gleamed, a dull glimmer at first; that rose, radiating, building in intensity, spreading from the backs of her eyes to the base of her skull, razing flesh and nerve and bone, rattling it all, it seemed.it was too abrupt, too forceful, to be anything immaterial. and yet... the woman's pulse echoed, pounding in her ears, in combination with a low, shrill building keening. it was a raucous cacophony, a too quick awareness that was both dizzying, and drew every little thing into a razor's edge sort of focus. a pin point clarity that threatens to distract, and overwhelm; the brightness of the carefully tended hearth piercing her peripheral, and in the silence that fell, she can almost hear the soft scuttle of rats in the near pitch black dark of the hallway without. the walls within seemed to expand inward, threatening to close tight around them for the briefest of moments, all near collapse, and yet... after, the tension eases, and they smoothe - a breath loosed and another inhalation halted, for now, so the mother might focus on her son with her feet upon solid ground.
yet it tilts, even where she sits with no intention of rising, beside her fourth born son. it feels as if a tight cord has wrapped itself around her lungs, inhibiting the necessary rise-and-fall and containing it into something incrementary, the queen's ribs rising in short, sharp movements well hidden by the layers of thick black material ( a black dress that was simple, yet of clear fine make, absent even the ruby three headed dragon of house targaryen, though it hangs around the queen's neck crafted near entirely of gold, upon a golden chain - the eyes of all three are a deep blue, near invisible specks of sapphire set on either side of each snout ) white bandages wrapped tight around her hands, fingers absent even her signet. silver white brows bow, and turn inward, teeth sinking into the soft of the inside of her cheek, as lips press tightly together.
how solemnly he speaks of grief, and loss is what devastates, but it is not what leaves her reeling. it is the understanding of it, keener then a boy his age's ever should have been. the truth, a reality spoken simply, uttered with the inflection of a man that was years grown, not a boy of nine. yet his innocence had been torn from him, ripped away, the way his brothers had been, a casuality of the never ending friction, a casualty of the ceaseless political warring, and plotting that had sewn a simmering violence down deep into the foundations forged of pale red stone, wrent and weeping a deeper scarlet, the dark red blood of the innocents slain or lost since the years long conflict had reached well past the point of boiling. there was no return from how far things had slipped past reason. no amount of scrubbing that could wash out the stain of blood that her inaction had spilled. though she had known only his name, jaehaerys targaryen had been of her own blood.
an innocent life taken in the name of avenging her own son, though he had not swung the sword, it was the hand of her husband who set it in motion, and he was his blood, too. the singular, unforgivable act, the thing abhorred and scorned by gods and men alike, a cursed, bleak existence and a soul stained black with sin. her reclaimation of the city had led to the flight of her sister and brother's youngest son, and only daughter - and were anything to happen to them, she would be cursed, too. mayhaps she already was ( her eldest had been struck down, too, after all, and her youngest was lost to her, if not dead already. her second son struck down for a debt left unpaid for ten years past, and yet even now, she would not have consented to his eye being taken ) children did not, should not, need pay for their sins of their parents, and yet... hers had. it was all, they had done. lucerys should never have needed make that choice — and yet he had done, because of her.
for she was to blame for it all being taken this far, she had done this. she had not been willing to sacrifice her pride for the good of her children. though she did not trust the greens, and would not have tolerated allowing her children to live beholden to their mercy, could they not have left ? could they not have spent the rest of their natural lives in exile ? far away from it all ? ne'er to return to westeros. yet could they ? would they be allowed that ? she did not know. otto hightower was not a man who had ever truly took unneccessary chances, and to allow their foes, to allow rebellion to grow where they could not watch them, to stomp it out when necessary... there had been no choice. if she were cursed, in truth, she could not say when it began. or when it should end. even death would like as not not prove a relief. she would burn for all that she had done, and of that, she had no doubt. if for nothing else, how entirely she had failed her children.
the movement slow and direct, making certain that her intention was clear so should he not feel the most comfortable with physical contact in that moment, should it not be a thing that would help.. her son could be make it known in some way. slowly, an arm wraps gently around the boy's shoulders, her head lowering to press a tender kiss to the top of his own. and then her head raises, yet for a heartbeat's width the two of them sit, silence held for seconds more as she holds her son to her, " it was too soon, " rhaenyra acknowledged, the words the slightest bit tight, fraying with every syllable, and yet, it is with an effort near herculean that her tone remains soft, even," and it is alright to be upset — it is alright to mourn. for what happened, should not have happened for many years yet. " though the sun may rise and seem to part them for the moment, the night returns, as it always does, unfailingly. he would see them again, though he would live many, many more years before that day. she would not allow it to be any sooner, even if she herself needed die, she would not allow either aegon or joffrey to join their brothers in death before it was their time.
" the night will fall, ever and always, at day's end, and the sun will rise when it's time is through, and it continues - again, and again, through days, weeks, and moons, " she pulls away, just enough so she could look down at her son's face, and watch the change in his expression as she speaks, " i know that it does not feel as though it should have an ability to rise again, when night falls, and someone is lost, and they are not with you any longer. but when the sky is dark, you need only look up at the stars to see them, " the words were not quite hers, but a repetition, a lesson, and one that queen aemma arryn had spoken softly to her daughter, stood on her balcony with an arm wrapped around her shoulders as they looked up at the splatter of stars standing stark against the late night sky, made even more distinct in the absence of the moon, " my lady mother used to say, loved ones passed can reach us through them. that even if they are not here as they once were, they remain with us, as surely as the stars are given new life when the darkness falls. you need not wait for your night to fall, my darling, to feel as though they are with you. you need not say a word, if you do not choose. "
