a breeze takes his hair, and with it, perhaps the last tints of tyrosh blue. the reflection below, a dark rippling sea, bears only paternal remindersββ the splitting image of rhaegar in a different light, though nothing there β·
βΆ feel less than what he is. yet his heart oft fosters, that if none of it had ever happened, he wouldnβt feel so terribly alone in the world. like now, surrounded by the vast sea, that mournfulness envelopes and keeps him rooted, β·
nay. iβll court when i need to marry. οΉmaids and boys melt at his eyesββ the perfect prince, some whisper, as they have about their uncle baelor. that very gaze follows the flush that smears his cousinβs comely features, intrigued by it.οΉ
you have not� ( it sounds strange to him, yet the princeling does not prod on that ; a flush is quick to appear, all the way up to the tip of his ears, but his face remains ever so serene. ) visenya doubts my charms.
i can do that. though i must admit, iβve hardly courted anyone before. οΉwhile a thumb finds purchase to idly stroke at his cousinβs wrist, a small grin shies out.οΉ who has chastised you about suitors .α£
β iβd like to pretend i knew more of these things. β he moves behind her, fingers gently taking one of her braids. some are small and intricate, two large ones weaved around her head like a crown. drawn to the purple ones, β·
βΆ each adorning the braiding with great care. they match the lilac of her eyes perfectly. β i imagine i would if rhaenys was alive, or we had grown beside each other. i spent a great deal of time with fishermen instead. β·
βΆ treat him like a child. he would very much dislike if someone did that to him in a time like this.
β have you been taking rest .α£ β crouching down, sitting on the ground.
β mayhaps, but itβs easier to cherish it than dread the horrors to come. and they will come, iβm sure. β eldest son of rhaegel, aegon is the very vision of a prince. he doesnβt mince words with the smaller princeling, doesnβt β·