‘ why'd i try at all? ’ — jace + neith.
the king and her do not talk.
they are made to spend time together, yes, for the possibility of a marriage or for the simple reason that there would be relation between their houses at all, for in the aftermath of the dance, the iron throne is as fragile as glass, as tender as a babe's foot. with vhagar having laid waste through most of the riverrun, perhaps aemond's last attempt in laying as much terror into the kingdom, into his enemies, the best way he'd known, with public orders collapsing in every few villages, the crownlands may have crowned their king, @dariperz, but they certainly did not reinstate the peace that was held so fastidiously in the former king viserys' grasp.
having dorne on their side would be advantageous not only in name, but in image. it would mean that the current king, regardless of what transpired, have won the unconquered land over even in times of dispute. that the most unbending of houses have finally recognised his reign, and therefore his mother's, and none across the seven realms could say otherwise. this much, neith is not so blind from. it may be the only reason, the goodwill aside, that cregan stark did not declare her an open traitor and sent her to exile. where would she have gone, regardless ? she is of sunspear. if anything, the past two years, being in king's landing had been what exile must be for others.
though she wonders if, in exile, she would love as she had loved; she would mourn as she had mourned.
here, in this moment, her grief carries over. neith has always been shy, the princess of the sun that has preferred the shadows, but in queen helaena's death, her reservation has certainly turned itself into a mounting wall. she keeps a distance this time. she bathes herself in bright dornish gowns, and attractive dornish jewels, but puts herself away like she is only a painting to be admired. she is certain, if she must go forth with her decision to stay, that she must engage with the court sooner or later. that she must be as ambient as her queen helaena, as steadfast as prince aemond, and even as crowd-pleasing as aegon the elder was, when his laziness or drunkenness is not in the way. for now, she is none of those things. only the king's quiet companion, until he speaks.
is he frustrated with her ? she thinks immediately, half in panic, though her composure does not say so. is he angry ? but he expels none of his rage, only that slip of a muttering.
neith watches, and knows, deep down, that her and jacaerys share much in common despite the differences in their station, in their upbringing. he is the witness of tragedy, the observer on the sidelines who ought to wield the power he has, but is too late anyway to save those who matters. his mother burns, his betrothed drowned, and his brother one by one has been targeted. only the young aegon remains, and he is a quiet boy. sullen. though he holds onto the king like he is the only lifeline. jaehaera is not as affectionate, but she accepts neith's company more than others. she lets neith reads to her. sing. sometimes she asks neith to tell her stories of dorne, its battles and princesses and dancing, and whether she could go there. i don't want to be here anymore. no one is coming back.
two sides of the same coin, they were. converge in the death of many.
❛ you must, ❜ she says finally, and her tone is more knife-sharp than it is the fluttering of hope she had dreamt it might be. ❛ to not try is to invite defeat. or has my silence truly disquiet you so ? ❜
currently accepting: you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love.
