hand turns loom ...

"Oh," the word's an involuntary whimper exhaled through shut teeth. Her unkept hand moves instinctively to the base of her abdomen, though the pressure against her unborn babe proves little comfort. Fearsome. A spike through the womb and neck, the iron twisting itself under the breath of a beast – a draconic ire, burying white hair beneath a crumbling keep, the whites of their eyes coming to a boil. She shuts the sudden onslaught out with a sharp turn of her head, creating a distance between herself and his hand. A hum in the guttural base of her throat rings out before she speaks (an emphasized, mirrored mannerism from her dear brother). "Unspool the thread already weft ... reed already beaten ..." Her eyes dart around the room, the nervousness of a trapped doe, then to every corner of her brother's face. Blood pools beneath the patch that covers his forsaken eye, blood red as black as it streaks down his cheek, a vein beneath skin hit at its root, leaking. She slips her her hand from his and moves it to wipe the blood away, but it vanishes before her. "What if he wishes not to be fearsome? Or ... king?"

With some measured effort, she remains unflinching at the touch, though the brief prick against her chin catches her by surprise, and a wince shudders its way through. Her eyes flutter shut, (doomed images of dragonfire melting flesh to bone, bone to ash, ash to soil, soil to trees, trees to homes, homes to birds, birds to freedom) and she follows the directionality of Princely aggression, her back to him, gently shuffling towards the edge of a nearby table so that she might lean some of her weight against it. "No..." She gleans this is to be her answer, but it sits uneasily on her tongue. "But it is not unnatural, to – have some hope, even for, ... other worlds. Other outcomes." Her eyes open, though she still maintains her position, her face barred from view. "Did it cross your mind? The outcomes... the Rest. The End."

prince aemonds wroth struck like the bite of an adder , swift as it was venomous . “ our brother was felled by his own haste and pride . ” he retorted fiercely , the blade of his tongue cutting between them with a scarcely contained rage . “ sunfyre on her own was no match for meleys . he would have been wise to yield the lead to me . ” it is true that aegon was an unpracticed rider , oft shirking his kingly responsibilities in favor of indulging in the enticements of the silk streets . “ you are a woman , with a woman’s heart and a woman’s mind . you insult myself and your husband to make presumptions about the battles between dragons and men . ”

Each word falls against Helaena's ears like rocks against glass panes; a shattering forthcoming, the silhouette of a window (battered by words, stones, and inclement weather) – her shoulders raise and tighten, her hand flexing by her side, her eyes shutting to the sound of her brother's voice. "I mean not. I cannot make presumptions." A woman's mind, fractured – the cracks between filled by pale dreams and a fog of certain futures. Things to come. In their own time. "But I ... made no trade for a ruby." Nor a dragon. Her gaze moves back upwards, to meet his, at least for a fleeting glance. "The King's thread ... rejects felling. It is not time." She speaks these words as though they're meant to serve a comfort. They do not, for her, but perhaps ... He lays alive, at least. In turn, the Queen speaks beneath her own tongue, a whisper amidst them. "It is not time."

" mm ... yes . an earwig . a lion . a rat . a mongrel . many such cases of this . " he would not himself speak aloud what he knew , which was that his queen , helaena targaryen , his own blood , fancied him a kinslayer . " perhaps it is in the beasts nature . " he would muse , pressing his cold gaze upon hers . " insect , mammal . ( ... ) at times even man . "

"At times." She cannot keep her eyes met towards his; instead, her chin dips, and she sets her eyes upon a far corner of the room. The scent of singed flesh draws tears at her waterline, which she blinks away – "Survival is ... among the commonalities of earwigs and lions and rats." But not dragons. What does a dragon need to survive? A dragon must be survived. A spark crossing the back of her eyelids, a bright orange flame against the night sky – a face malformed. A king undone. That green fabric she flicks upon snags at her nail, and a single thread unwinds itself, catching against her finger. She pulls. "And man." So gentle a pause, she breathes, before adding with a breathy cadence, "Some men."