FIRE & BLOOD

Prince Aenyx, your shoulders.

Lady Rosalyn, stop looking at your feet.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his.

Years had passed. Kingdoms had shifted. They had become strangers and then something worse. Yet her hand still seemed to fit perfectly in his, as though neither of them had forgotten.

For a moment her gaze lingered on their joined hands. She wondered, despite herself, what might have happened if she had never returned to Highgarden. If he had not become who he was meant to become. If they had been allowed to remain children just a little longer.

Foolish thoughts.

She stepped closer, resting her free hand lightly against his shoulder. The distance between them disappeared with an ease she found deeply unfair.

Then she looked at him. Truly looked.

The eyes were the same. The same impossible violet, the same sharpness that always made her feel as though he saw more than he ought to. But there was something else there now. Something harder. Heavier. The easy certainty of youth had long since given way to something forged beneath crowns and expectations and disappointments. Perhaps the same could be said of her.

There was little use mourning what might have been. They had only what was.

"Are you sure this is a wise idea?" she asked softly. A faint smile touched her lips. “I would hate to remember how easy this used to be.”

Her choice of word echoes in his mind.

Easy.

What else in his life could be described like that? Perhaps this is why it’s so hard for him to remove himself from her; perhaps that is why whenever she gives an inch, he tries to take a mile — trying to find that point when things were simple between them, again. Not that he doesn't know they never truly were, they were just better at ignoring the world back when they were younger and consequences felt like the sort of things that happened to other people.

He knows what she wants from him, and he knows he can’t give it. If he gave a damn about honor, gallantry, his duty to his king and to the realm, he wouldn’t be here right now, dancing in an empty room, pulling her closer, his hands running up her back, cupping her jaw to tilt her chin up.

This is why he can’t be friends with her — he cannot conceive of having her close and not touching her, not pushing for more. “If you don’t want this, say it,” the words are whispered against her skin. “You understand me well enough to know I’m not selfless enough to stop.”

Not enough, or nothing.

It’s her choice — Aenyx’s already made his.

She had spent a good portion of that evening noticing him despite every effort not to. Noticing how well he carried himself, how easily attention gathered around him, how unfairly handsome he had looked beneath the candlelight. All that time, she had assumed the attention was entirely one-sided. That he would never grant her vanity the satisfaction of knowing he had looked in return. Judging by how embarrassingly pleased she felt now, she could understand why he had kept it to himself.

Since he’d have to be drunk to be that stupid.

He quirks an eyebrow at her next question, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “I have no competition,” and he considers jealousy to be quite a pedestrian sentiment. Resentment would ring truer — resentment at those who do not need to concern themselves with the reproaches of a saturnine father who accepts no opposition to his pronouncements. And with Aenyx’s eschewal of Arianne throughout this trip, Aegon already has plenty to lecture him on, without him adding fuel to the fire by paying special attention to anyone else.  

His head tilts to one side when she looks away, his sign to know she’s thinking about lying and he treads forward, closing whatever little distance is between them once more. “There’s no one around to gossip about it here,” the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, the disaster going unmentioned. Now that he’s had time to think about it, the silver lining of his cousin’s impulsivity was that it allowed Aenyx to sidestep both duty and desire in one fell swoop. “No one to see me being refused, either,” he reaches his hand, palm up.

There’s no music, but it wouldn’t be the first time they danced without it. They didn’t learn to dance with music, after all. Just one stern tutor, irately beating the tempo against the floor with a stick, criticizing their forms with barked orders. Silence would be a sweeter tune.

She continued to play with her goblet, now seeming to have found the most interesting of things at its bottom. “And here I was under the impression my company delighted you.” The words were light, almost playful. “Had I known all those years ago that I could have spared myself the arguments, the insults, the endless attempts at deciphering whatever it is that happens inside your head by simply opening my legs, I would have done it much sooner and saved myself from the torture.” She sighed, finally taking a fat sip. “Now you have made me rude as well.”

She watched him over the rim of the cup, and with every step he took she became more still, more conscious of his presence, more aware of his words. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps dragons were truly better than people. She briefly found herself wondering where she might acquire one. Sometimes, what one sought was standing directly before them. Unfortunately for her, he was only a dragonlord. Somewhat dragon. Ultimately, just a man. 

And, to be fair, she was hardly worthy either. She would not have him as a pariah. Still, she could not have him as a king either. And despite all of that, she kept finding herself here. Still asking questions. Still listening to the answers. Still lingering.

The last of the wine disappeared as the Valyrian slipped from his lips. With it went her final excuse to look away. The goblet lowered slowly, leaving nothing between them but the silence he seemed so intent on cornering her into. “So let us stop lying, then.” The smile she attempted lasted only a moment before fading. “I do not want you to leave.” Her gaze held his. “Would that be enough?”

Their eyes meet, her smile blinking in and out in a moment and he lets out a huff of laughter at her stubbornness. “No,” he admits before he even has time to think about lying. “But it’s better than nothing.” There are only two options for them, after all — not enough or nothing. Fresh silence falls, but he doesn’t stand motionlessly in it for long, his hand lifting carefully, slowly, fingers trailing softly against the side of her face as he pushes a silken strand of hair away. His head dips for a moment, their foreheads almost touching, but he steps away before the gesture is completed.

“These Dornish fashions suit you. Bolder than the Reach’s,” he’s still close enough that giving her a once-over would be ungainly, besides now that she’s no longer avoiding his eye, he prefers to look at her. “The dress you wore at Sera’s wedding was particularly fine. Had the party not been cut short, I might have drank enough by the end of it to ask you to dance.”

Why must he be so commanding? That was her family’s chambers, and yet he moved through them as though they belonged to him. As though everything belonged to him. He invaded her space, poured her wine, rearranged the conversation to suit himself, and expected the world to accommodate him in return.

And why, Gods above, must he be so rude? Did he know nothing of cordiality? Of grace? Of peace? Rosalyn could be cynical when she wished. Provocative. Petty, certainly. But she liked to believe she remained tasteful while doing so. Aenyx possessed a remarkable talent for making even the simplest exchange feel like a battlefield.

Still, anything was preferable to dwelling on Loras. Anything was preferable to wondering where he was, if he still was. Her fingers tightened briefly around the stem of the goblet. A humorless smile crossed her face. Even when he was his most undoing, she still found herself grateful for it.

“Is that what you wish for?” she asked at last, absentmindedly, swirling her wine. “To be friends?” The word sounded strange coming from him. “Do you even know how?” She continued before she could stop herself, “I mean, do you actually have any friends?” Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. “Human ones, preferably. I do not believe your dragon counts.”

“Friendship is simple. Comfortable. People who are friends generally seem to enjoy speaking to one another.” She took the goblet to her lips. “We have never been particularly good at that.”

“Never?” he lets out a bark of laughter, entirely devoid of cheerfulness. “Seven fucks, Rosalyn, I know I’m a great lay, but I didn’t realize how much you were being inconvenienced by uncomfortable, unenjoyable conversation just to get to the fun part.” there’s a flawless smile on his face when he turns to face her, again, though it does not reach his eyes. “Had I known I didn’t have to woo you to get you into bed you’d have saved us both some effort.”

His smile vanishes as he steps closer to her. “No, I don’t want to be your friend. Yes, I know how to make them, it’s just that the caliber of people who want to befriend the crown prince leave much to be desired. Vandal would have me whether I’m king or pariah, I’ve yet to find a person I could say the same for,” he recites through her inquires with suitable patience and just the lightest touch of pedantry. “And perhaps our discussions would flow more easily if you didn’t insist on answering my questions by questioning me in turn.” he takes yet another step closer, switching to Valyrian. “Lies are more effective when you tell them to someone who wasn’t present during whatever it is you’re lying about,” Aenyx cants his head to one side. “Now, let us try something easier — do you want me to stay?”

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The answers crossed her mind almost immediately. Answers she did not dare to say aloud. Neither did she dare move. She could have stepped aside. She could have challenged him to leave. But she knew he would. And she did not think she could bear to watch him walk away.

So she remained where she was, silent, her eyes following him as he approached. Her back pressed further against the wooden door behind her, as though she had forgotten it was there. As though some stubborn part of her had decided to hold her ground. Or perhaps to keep him in.

“If you truly wished to leave, Aenyx, you would have done so already,” Rosalyn replied quietly. “Just as you have done every time I have attempted to speak with you these past days. My behavior could not interfere less with your ability to dismiss me.”

The words lingered between them for a moment. Then she drew a slow breath, closing her eyes briefly before letting it out. “But I suppose that hardly matters.” Her shoulders straightened, not quite regaining their usual poise, but approaching it. “You have come to my family's chambers for a reason.” A small pause. “And with Loras absent, I...” She hesitated, the words catching for only a moment before she forced them forward. “How may I help you, Your Grace?”

It must be easier to tell the truth when it isn’t about her, but the cynicism doesn’t help him recover faster. As usual, just when he is certain of his upper hand, she finds a way to turn the tables, reminding him yet again that however well he thinks he knows her, her understanding of him equals it. Aenyx straightens, the silence lingering between them, a brief, startled smile ghosting across his face.

What a queen she would make.

The thought comes unbidden and he pushes it away without examination. The subject of his betrothal is frustrating enough as it is, he will not make it worse. “I was looking for your brother to discuss the details of my departure, my lady, which I believe is outside your purview, so that hardly matters,” he sarcastically repeats her words back to her.

“I do not know.” The answer came immediately.

She wished she could have offered something different, something prettier. Pettier, perhaps. Good evening to you as well, my prince, you look good. Some carefully measured greeting. Some attempt to maintain the illusion that things between them remained simple. Some trivial way to remind him, to punish him. Today she found she lacked the energy for it.

“I need to speak with my brother before making any decision.” She leaned back against the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. It was not quite a graceful pose. She was too tired for grace. A faint breath escaped her. “Though that has become rather difficult, considering no one seems to know where he is.” The words were delivered almost flatly. Not because she did not care, but because she had exhausted herself caring already.

Her gaze drifted briefly through the room before returning to him. For a moment she simply looked at him. Standing there. In her family's chambers. Alone with her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. “I was under the impression you had decided this would not happen again.”

Had it been anyone else, Aenyx would have simply assumed they didn’t search in the right places, or asked the correct people, but Rose understands the ebb and flow of the court well enough to know what she’s doing. Still, the spark of interest is brief — he’s fairly confident he’s seen Loras at breakfast, he’d assumed he had pressing kingdom business to attend to during the trial and his chamber is the first place he’s looked, there isn’t reason for concern, in his view. “I’ll tell the Lord Commander to keep an eye out, though I’m sure he’ll turn up on his own,” there’s a cavalier note in his voice, which he doesn’t quite mean, but the lack of pretense in her bearing disconcerts him.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with her vulnerability given the lack of clarity between them, the long months of complete silence, the shallow attempts at conversation he’s rebuffed since coming here. So where she keeps herself open, he closes himself up in response, the tension in his shoulders vanishing, the strain of the past several days wiped from his expression to be replaced with easy indifference.

And not a moment too soon, as well, for her next words push him, in an instant, beyond rage. He lets out a humorless chuckle, the grin that settles on his face entirely mirthless. “I decided. Of course. I cannot believe it slipped my mind,” he comments icily, walking over to where she stands, stopping a mere breadth away, grin disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “I suppose you should get out of my way, then,” his voice grows mellow, though not at all warmer. “You don’t expect me to slink past you like a common servant, do you?”

during: after the latest plot drop before departing dorne

it was safe to say, arianne was wanting everyone to leave her home already. not only was her brother wedding celebration feast ended in a fight due to an unwarranted marriage, the disater of what came after the desert race was enough to make one want to hurl their insides. she had half a mind to poison the little runt for what he dared to do in the stables of her home. surely this would sour relations between the crown and dorne but she would not care. she had offered what she could to help treat the young lord from the North that had gotten hurt but it felt as if there was not much else she could do.

He freezes for a moment, biting down on the sudden fury at the stupid carelessness of words spoken without bothering to see who they reach, and eventually he lets out a controlled breath, focusing his gaze on the bustle of the fleeing nobles outside. “It’s plenty punishing for him. Six years is a long time for one so young. And it’s an improbable ordeal to overcome, given his disposition,” the words come out flat, unfeeling, and Aenyx waits another beat before turning to face her. “I came to say my goodbyes, princess. I’ll be leaving soon,” he bows perfunctorily, anger still simmering, contained, but barely, making it impossible to pretend sentimentality.

In the Princess's mind, Aenyx was oblivious to the anger that radiated throughout Viserra's wedding. If the rest of the Martell's were gleefully ignoring it, Eleana would just follow her cousin's lead. There had to be a revolt soon, Eleana just knew it! "My mother's words are the strongest in Dorne, unlike yours" She crossed her arms, trying to avoid the squirming snake. "And I am sure she will agree to do something about me being treated like this by the Crown Prince" She would cry, squeal, anything to make a dramatic act in front of her mother.

In her defiance Eleana did not notice the head of the snake escaping her grip. Annoyed with being manhandled while an argument was going on, the boa had turned around and striked Eleana in the arm. The seering paper cut-like pain spread through her nerves, forcing the Princess to scream. "Now look what you've done!" She pointed an accusing finger to the Prince "I am going to tell Princess Deria, your father, and the entirety of Dorne!" She was well aware that the snakebite was nobody else's fault but her own, but that would hardly let her complete her goal of being as annoying as possible to Aenyx

He lets out a disbelieving laugh when she gets bitten, just as she threatened to tattle on him like they’re children still stuck in a nursey. That creature must have a flair for poetry — snakes eat rats, after all.

What he did?!

If the gods exist, they must be very bored with this charade. “Tell them what, exactly? That the snake you tried to leave in my room attacked you?” he almost hopes she would if it means he’ll finally be free of her presence. “The door’s wide open, princess. You and your beastie are free to leave.”

Damnit. This prince was going to be the death of her! All these stupid dragons only wanted more to own. More to dominate. If Eleana was slightly less of a chicken, she would do......something? She was not sure. The Princess hardly had the stomach for murder or malicious accidents. "At least me and my sister don't hoard the land like you and your sister do!" In all truth, Eleana had known King Aegon was driving most of it. But what could she even say to him? Stop intruding on me and my family? Gods, she hated being so powerless.

The Princess's jaw dropped. What did Aenyx just say?! She had to be careful not to lose too much composure. There was still a wild animal in her hand after all. "Of course you did not, my Prince. You and your ilk were too busy destroying the desert" There was venom to Eleana's words. "If you're looking for fun, I have heard the dungeons of Hellholt welcomed Targaryens in the past" Eleana managed to laugh at the small bit of cruelty she managed to conjure. The snake curled again, The Princess glances around for an open door or window to release it in.

Aenyx lets out an exasperated sigh and walks over to the refreshments table to pour himself a goblet of wine. He doesn’t bother offering her any. “We didn’t hoard land, Eleana — we integrated six kingdoms into one realm and put an end to their petty wars,” he turns to her, raising his glass in a mocking salute. “And we’ve forged peace with yours too by binding our families together,” he takes a sip of the wine, an eyebrow quirking cynically at her sudden vitriol.

“Your prince?” he questions, a teasing lilt to his voice, his grin widening at her pathetic attempt at malice. It isn’t the first time he’s heard the rumor that Rhaenys survived her dragon’s death, and while he still doesn’t know what truly happened to her, he has little doubt she’s long dead by now, regardless. Whether by succumbing to her injuries after Meraxes’ fall, or perhaps killed by dragonfire during the grief fueled rage of her siblings’ rampage — he’s had a decade to come to terms with her demise and his affection for her has only ever been lukewarm at best, there is no point in yielding to Eleana’s perception of a pain he doesn’t feel.