#elegiasts

Mismatched eyes look at the book in front of him rather than Brynden himself, when she first approaches, going around the desk and settling by his side. Taking in his demeanor comes second to her curiosity as to what he occupies his mind with. When Shiera does glance at him, her findings are unsurprising; he is cross with her, she supposes, though hopefully not for long. It is a matter of time, regardless. He could never stay mad at her for too long. "What reason would there be to pity you, Brynden?" She turns her full attention to him then, a finger toying with the tips of his silver hair. Her tone may be light, but the glint in her blue-green eyes denounces her amusement at his expense. "Have you missed me so much that my absence was taken as a slight?" "Surely I did not offend you by spending some time in a pyromancer's company the last few days?" Feigned naiveté, as they both well know. "He was so sweet, I did not have it in my heart to tell him no." For a time, before the man had lost her interest, as they all seemed to inevitably do. “If you will be sour about it, I can leave you to your sulking.”

"Mhm. I am sure he was sweet indeed."

The words on the page in front of him slip out of focus. Disinterest had never been difficult to feign, until it came to her. The walls around his mind and heart suddenly seem made of straw. Brynden attempts to turn the page, as though her words were nothing.

"I am not sour. I am concentrating."

But he can never muster this act for long. Alas, he is wrapped around her delicate fingers, and he has no intention of extracting himself. He knows she is laughing at him; but her alone he will grant that honour.

@elegiasts asked: “Will you be disappointed if it is not a son?” (from laena)

There  were  few  questions  in  the  world  that  could  truly  catch  him  unprepared.  Men  had  called  him  reckless,  cruel,  ambitious,  dangerous  —  and  Daemon  had  worn  most  of  those  names  with  little  argument.  He  knew  what  the  lords  of  Westeros  whispered.  He  knew  what  they  expected  from  men  like  him,  from  houses  like  theirs.  A  prince  of  the  blood  and  the  daughter  of  the  Sea  Snake.  Of  course  they  expected  sons.  Little  princes  with  silver  hair  who  would  carry  swords,  ride  dragons,  and  have  half  the  realm  already  measuring  the  worth  of  their  names  before  they  could  even  walk.

His  eyes  drifted  briefly  toward  where  her  hand  rested,  where  their  child  grew,  and  the  corner  of  his  mouth  moved  in  something  close  to  amusement.  He  moved  closer,  taking  her  chin  between  his  fingers  so  she  would  look  at  him  rather  than  whatever  doubt  had  planted  itself  in  her  mind.  “You  think  I  would  care  whether  my  child  is  born  with  one  thing  between  their  legs  or  another?”  He  scoffed  softly.  He  had  seen  the  consequences  of  what  that  had  done  to  his  brother,  and  sweet  Aemma.  The  expectation  of  sons  weighted  down  on  women  around  him,  even  to  his  mother,  who  had  birthed  two  sons,  died  giving  birth  to  another.  “A  son  would  please  the  realm.  A  son  would  please  the  maesters  who  enjoy  writing  their  little  lists  of  heirs  and  bloodlines.”  His  thumb  brushed  lightly  against  her  jaw.  “But  I  have  never  lived  my  life  for  the  comfort  of  old  men  with  ink-stained  fingers.”

and there could be no merrier blessing than this, than them, their sacred arms around his neck more than enough to make him forget about the day's weariness & future's worries. everything was for them. everything was them.

Visenya is putting things on high shelves in Dragonstone

Meanwhile, the only thing normal about these two is the height difference

"I thought you would never ask, sister."

Visenya grinned and held out a practice blade to her little sister. A maiden of four-and-ten, Visenya could not remember a time before she had held a sword. Their father, indulgent as he was, had never stopped her - perhaps because Visenya, even then, had not been a girl easily told no.

Rhaenys had never shown the same desire until now, or at least Visenya had noticed it.

The day was lovely and warm and instead of being outside, Daella was sulking inside the castle. None of her siblings seemed to be available for her and she did not have the desire to spend time on her own. When she watched a bird sitting by her window, the girl decided to seek out company elsewhere. She found her mother soon enough and quietly sat down next to her. “Mother?” The girl looked up at her mother, a small smile on her lips, hopeful, determined. “I was wondering if you would go for a ride with me? The day is so lovely...”

"Sorry!"

Brynden coughed, a foul smelling smoke filling the room. So much for their potion; whatever it had been for, he had been unable to resist the temptation to open the bottle as it bubbled over a candle, and it had exploded all over him. Curiosity had always been his downfall.

"Are you so delicate that my rage wounds you?"

Visenya's anger smouldered beneath the surface. For many days she had kept her displeasure to herself, seeking comfort in the skies. But no longer could she keep her tongue behind her teeth.