[ Quiet with disbelief, Aemond's words seeming to swallow all sound in the room. His heart is lead, now; dropping into his stomach, nausea rising in its wake.
Dorian grips Aemond's arms, pulling back enough to look at him, to search his face for an answer. ]
Youβve met my sister. Spoken with her, heard her speak true of what is to come.
She has seen my death, and soon. I know of it, and I know the cost of it.
[aegon will be king again. he dies, and aegon becomes king. aemond knows this, despises this, but heβs come to understand what helaena had meant when she said that having her killed would not change anything. hw could scorch the whole kingdom, and he would still die. this is the cost of ambition. the cost of fighting for the throne.
aemond is beginning to understand his place in it, and what his dying will mean for their victory. ]
It is something I need to face. The Stranger comes for us all, and I can only hope to die as a dragonrider, Dorian, but you have to understand. I march to my death when I leave here.
I told you, when we first met. My brother is king, and I fight for my king.
[ he doesnβt let dorian go. holds to him tightly, like he might hold to a lifeline. ]
Let me protect you. Please. As I care for you and hold you to me, let me do this too.
[ Soon. That's the word that sticks like a knife, lodging itself between Dorian's ribs. Aemond is so young, and though Dorian doesn't think of Aemond as a boy, he doesn't deserve to have time robbed from him like this.
Fuck your brother, Dorian almost says, though they've never met, and he knows what it is to put his life on the line for someone or something else. He might laugh, under other circumstances, or make some joke to lessen the blow: instead, all he can do is slide his hands down Aemond's arms, to clutch at his hands where they fist in his shirt. Both of them gripping each other like they'll disappear, if one lets go. ]
Then don't leave. [ There's a tremor in his voice, knowing the futility, the unfairness of this request. ] Stay in this--awful, wretched place with me, if it means you won't die.
Were that a choice I could make willingly, I would still go back. I have a higher call to heed.
[ there is no escaping duty. aemond would not make himself a coward by running away from his duty, no matter how genuine the love offered to him here. he is his mother's rage and his father's neglect, and together these two torments have sharpened him into a weapon that knows little else beyond the fire of his blood. he is fire and blood; the legacy of his family is carved into his bones, seeped into his very marrow.
it doesn't mean he aches for dorian any less. it doesn't mean he thinks poorly of their affections. he has what he has, and these things will remain under the balfours' keep. he knows he cannot take this with him when he goes. ]
Do not think this my dismissal of your affections. It is never that. I care for you, and deeply. [ he allows himself the weakness of touching dorian's cheek, as tender as anything he can give. ] Too many people have died for the war we fight. Too many sacrifices made. If I surrender now... You would not want a coward.
I know. [ Soft, without fight in it. Selfish as Dorian wishes to be in this moment, he understands. Even if this place were idyllic, without horrors, even if it offered him the chance to stay with these new loves forever-- Dorian has an apocalypse to help avert, back home. He doesn't know how the Inquisition fares without him, and he feels helpless in that.
Dorian tips his cheek into Aemond's warm hand and holds his wrist, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm, his lashes wet. ]
Forgive me the foolish, impossible fantasy that neither of us has a war to go home to. I'd rather not march to my death when I return, but it's possible I will.
[ He mirrors Aemond, lifting a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his eyepatch, pressing lightly into the scar tissue below it. ]
I won't mourn you before you're gone. You're here, now. Real as anything.
Only my mother has ever cried for me. [ how poignant it is, isn't it, that someone should mourn him in their little ways. tears unshed, clinging to dorian's lashes. the very last of propriety, or pride, or some other emotion left unnamed in aemond's vocabulary. ] Save your tears. I am not dying yet.
[ soon. by daemon's hand, by daemon's steel, by caraxes's fire β does it matter how, if the the man who takes him is the same? the histories tell of it. the histories remember for him, for them, their glory ever intertwined in the watery grave that awaits. there is little room left for anything else, but aemond will prise apart the iron that binds them, so that dorian might find warm in the spaces between. ]
Perhaps you'll remember for the both of us, when we return. And you'll survive, and live for years to come, and I will be alone the dragon you think of fondly in your sleep.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Quiet with disbelief, Aemond's words seeming to swallow all sound in the room. His heart is lead, now; dropping into his stomach, nausea rising in its wake.
Dorian grips Aemond's arms, pulling back enough to look at him, to search his face for an answer. ]
You-- Tell me I've misheard you.
no subject
She has seen my death, and soon. I know of it, and I know the cost of it.
[ aegon will be king again. he dies, and aegon becomes king. aemond knows this, despises this, but heβs come to understand what helaena had meant when she said that having her killed would not change anything. hw could scorch the whole kingdom, and he would still die. this is the cost of ambition. the cost of fighting for the throne.
aemond is beginning to understand his place in it, and what his dying will mean for their victory. ]
It is something I need to face. The Stranger comes for us all, and I can only hope to die as a dragonrider, Dorian, but you have to understand. I march to my death when I leave here.
I told you, when we first met. My brother is king, and I fight for my king.
[ he doesnβt let dorian go. holds to him tightly, like he might hold to a lifeline. ]
Let me protect you. Please. As I care for you and hold you to me, let me do this too.
no subject
Fuck your brother, Dorian almost says, though they've never met, and he knows what it is to put his life on the line for someone or something else. He might laugh, under other circumstances, or make some joke to lessen the blow: instead, all he can do is slide his hands down Aemond's arms, to clutch at his hands where they fist in his shirt. Both of them gripping each other like they'll disappear, if one lets go. ]
Then don't leave. [ There's a tremor in his voice, knowing the futility, the unfairness of this request. ] Stay in this--awful, wretched place with me, if it means you won't die.
no subject
[ there is no escaping duty. aemond would not make himself a coward by running away from his duty, no matter how genuine the love offered to him here. he is his mother's rage and his father's neglect, and together these two torments have sharpened him into a weapon that knows little else beyond the fire of his blood. he is fire and blood; the legacy of his family is carved into his bones, seeped into his very marrow.
it doesn't mean he aches for dorian any less. it doesn't mean he thinks poorly of their affections. he has what he has, and these things will remain under the balfours' keep. he knows he cannot take this with him when he goes. ]
Do not think this my dismissal of your affections. It is never that. I care for you, and deeply. [ he allows himself the weakness of touching dorian's cheek, as tender as anything he can give. ] Too many people have died for the war we fight. Too many sacrifices made. If I surrender now... You would not want a coward.
no subject
Dorian tips his cheek into Aemond's warm hand and holds his wrist, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm, his lashes wet. ]
Forgive me the foolish, impossible fantasy that neither of us has a war to go home to. I'd rather not march to my death when I return, but it's possible I will.
[ He mirrors Aemond, lifting a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his eyepatch, pressing lightly into the scar tissue below it. ]
I won't mourn you before you're gone. You're here, now. Real as anything.
no subject
[ soon. by daemon's hand, by daemon's steel, by caraxes's fire β does it matter how, if the the man who takes him is the same? the histories tell of it. the histories remember for him, for them, their glory ever intertwined in the watery grave that awaits. there is little room left for anything else, but aemond will prise apart the iron that binds them, so that dorian might find warm in the spaces between. ]
Perhaps you'll remember for the both of us, when we return. And you'll survive, and live for years to come, and I will be alone the dragon you think of fondly in your sleep.
My handsome, clever man.