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 — 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.
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[ soon. by daemon's hand, by daemon's steel, by caraxes's fire — 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.