‘ everyone i’ve cared about has either died or left me. except for you. ’
𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓, 𝕮𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖞𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖘 𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊. Oh, it stings, like saltwater on an open wound. It hurts to see such beauty and wit and hardship and sorrow enter the heart of a girl so young. Rhaena and Baela were the ghosts of the daughter he had lost and the son he could not protect within his own home. Grief has haunted Corlys' for years-- as perhaps too much. He knows the rift it has caused him, his wife, their grandchildren, to be out and about on the War of the Stepstones, running from his own senses of guilt and shame. What kind of a man are you, Corlys Velaryon? He would ask himself every night under the blanket of stars after a rough day at war. That you chose violence over the connections of your family-- of your own blood.
𝕿𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖉𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖒, he smiles softly. "You are the blood of my blood, you will have me always." He assures her, his fearless and intelligent girl. "You are of my kin-- you have the blood of the dragon but the sea calls to you as well. You are the union of two of the most powerful families in the realm and if we cannot make it out of this alive, then the world will remember us as we were. United as one."
