Thereβs a perverse sense of vindication when she looks away, all the stronger for knowing what sheβs going through. Sheβs found it too easy to blame him for his coldness, sheβs been too quick to charge him with removing her choice β well, this is what it feels like to make the decision and he can tell sheβs choking on it even before she opens her mouth to divert the conversation.
No, he doesnβt think that is what she wants, but itβs what he can offer in the absence of what sheβs really after β legitimacy, respectability, to know that when people gossip of her their words wonβt touch her because there wonβt be anything in her behavior to invite remonstration β sheβs always been too concerned with public scrutiny to admit, even to herself, that those in her position (so recently obtained, at the hands of the dragons so many of them still despise) tempt it whether she does something worthy of enquiry or not. To be completely fair, tongues do tend to lull their wagging in the absence of scandal, though they could never be entirely silenced, and plenty have a vested interest in seeing her familyβs downfall, whether based on truth or not. He knows this, because he is, essentially, in the same position and he doubts any amount of correctness would save him from an eruption of resentment β all either of them can do is delay the inevitable, buy themselves more time to prepare for the worst. He doesnβt think sheβs realized this for herself, though, not with the way sheβs talking, avoiding the decision.
It would be a relief if in the moment it didnβt feel so unbearable. He wonders if there is anything he could tell her that she would accept, he wonders if sheβs stalling in the hopes heβd go back on his word and put an end to this for both of them. A muscle twitches in his jaw at the thought, at the sense of futility he feels about her accepting any plain suggestion he might make β Viserra would never hold her to her service if she asks for leave, he has another sister whoβd stay here, his mother might take her under her wing if she asked, for fuckβs sake, even his future wife would need ladies from the Six Kingdoms around her, though heβs certainly not foolish enough to advise that outright. Given enough time, she could even join the council, which would circumvent whatever marriage is brokered for her, just as he is trying to sidestep his.
Maybe she thinks she can still give him up, as if one night hasnβt shattered years of separation and threw a wrench in both of their composure. And the thought that it might have been the last is frankly agonizing. Itβs difficult to think clearly under the suffocating sense of panic that engulfs him, made all the heavier at the mention of the king, reminding him he should hate him for the mold heβs forced him into, for the constant supervision heβs made him live under, and most of all, for the lack of trust heβs shown his heir apparent, speaking to him of duty when he asks of politics.
Because their marriage to Dorne makes no sense, brings them no obvious benefits, loses them a dragonrider and gives Aenyx a future queen whose lineage is despised by most of the realmΒ β as if he wasnβt unpopular enough on his own β all for a region of sand and heat who has failed, or refused to make any allies outside their borders in thousands of years. He understands Deriaβs reasoning better than his fatherβs and the blind obedience that is expected of him is downright infuriating when heβs spent most of his life biting his tongue and softening his edges in an abundance of caution over offending those heβs meant to rule over, only for his father to destroy it all by binding him to a Martell, of all people. They had half the realm staunchly by their side, bound by blood to their house, and instead of choosing a bride from the other half, Aegon has decided to insult two of their strongest allies by extending an olive branch and giving his two dragonrider children to the Dornish.
At least a Northern wife would have been merely useless, rather than downright poison. The Riverlands would have been a halfway decent choice, perhaps. The Reach though β that would have been best, the richest region, the largest army, the stronghold of a Faith the Targaryens barely adopted, the center of knowledge that produces the maesters every family notable enough to have one employed. Heβs spent years assuming his father would announce heβd have to marry a Hightower, Florent, or a Rowan, maybe even a Redwyne β he hadnβt dared hope he would pick the Tyrells, especially not after Loras became Hand, it would have opened them up to the criticism of allowing one house too much influence over the crown β instead his father chose a belligerent enemy who refused to bend the knee, their obstinacy so strong it even survived dragonfire. In hindsight, Aenyx should have troubled himself with less, heβd have made a better choice than his father, anyway.
βWould you welcome her in my bed?β he latches onto Roseβs insistence on bringing Arianne up, because he still cannot bring himself to speak in anything but the warmest sentiments of Aegon, even to her. Itβs easier to focus on what hurts less. βSheβs already made it clear sheβd rather keep her freedom,β sheβs still trying to hide from him, invoke some type of feminine comradery, because even now, she refuses to admit sheβs the one with the problem, though they both should know that at this point, Arianne could hardly have developed any sort of investment in him. Β
He canβt help but agree with her, this is foolish, though his thoughts donβt quite run as fatalistic as hers, but however unkind Aenyx is (and he knows he is) heβs always made sure that the suffering he caused her was, at least, necessary. This β whatever it is anymore β barely qualifies and her hopelessness cuts at the hidden part of him β he cannot have her if sheβs miserable, he couldnβt bear it.
Her final question startles him, and he takes a step forward, closing the distance between them once more. βYes,β the word is uttered in a low rush, something of the animal panic beneath it breaking through to the surface as he reaches out for her hand. βLetβs leave this place,β his father can pick another heir, heβs sick of it, heβs been sick of it for a long time, the future Aegonβs built for him feels too much like a cage of late, and he worries that by the time he gets the crown, he would have irredeemably destroyed everything that's left. βVandal will have us across the Narrow Sea by morning, heβs not so big that he'd be difficult to hide, we can easily ensure they never find us,β even as he is propelled by his own intentions, the clarity that hits his mind feels ice cold. Even as plans form, he already knows she will refuse him.
Sheβll find a way to blame that on him, too.