ELLIPSISM, aemond targaryen

[015] history remembers names

"SHE WANTED TO come home."

Corlys stopped pacing when he heard his wife's voice.

"And he denied her."

"Daemon did what he thought best," Corlys replied firmly.

Rhaenys stared at the fire in the hearth and scoffed. "Daemon only ever does what is best for Daemon." She slipped one ring off her finger and let it fall onto the table beside her with a soft clink. "Laena needed our maesters."

After a long moment, Corlys turned to look over his shoulder at her. "The surgeons in Pentos are well-trained as our maesters."

Rhaenys didn't answer.

"You are looking to place blame for an act of the gods," Corlys said, walking towards his wife.

The woman in front of the fire stared at him before shaking her head, looking down at her hands and slipping another ring off of her finger. "Mayhaps the gods have scorned us . . ." Corlys glared at her, "for our insatiable pride."

Clink.

Rhaenys looked at him half curiously, half provocatively.

"The crown was yours," Corlys said slowly, "until those fools at the Great Council plucked it from your head. Is it such a terrible thing for you husband to wish to win it back?"

"Tonight of all nights, let us lay aside this falsehood," Rhaenys scoffed and looked at him coldly. "It is not justice for you wife that drives you. It is your own ambition. 'Tis desire for the throne, if not for yourself, then for the scions of your house. I gave up the idea of wearing a crown a generation ago. It is you, lord husband, who refuses to abandon this pursuit, even now, at the cost of our children."

Corlys looked sadly at Rhaenys who looked away again as she began to give in to the tears that welled up in her eyes. He didn't know what to say, the only sound in the big dark room was the crackling of wood in the fireplace and the wind howling outside the windows. Corlys slowly sat down on the cool wooden chair next to his wife and studied how thanks to the light from the fire he could see the shiny path on her cheek created by the single tear the Princess shed.

He gently shook his head. "What is this brief mortal life . . . if not the pursuit of legacy?"

"Legacy may be why you live your life, Corlys."

The hope faded from his eyes and he slowly pulled away from her and leaned against the back of his chair, as though it could swallow him if he leaned himself back hard enough. Again there was an awkward silence between him and his wife, but Corlys lost the will to fix it.

"I want Driftmark to pass through Laena's line to Baela."

Corlys looked at her.

"To true Velaryon blood."

No answer.

"Declare it now, while all are gathered here, and we will say that is how we will honor Laena's memory," Rhaenys said firmly.

"And disinherit our son?" Corlys raised an eyebrow.

"He will be the King Consort. His son will one day sit the Iron Throne."

"You would have me cast an even darker shadow over those little kids than already exists," Corlys said through gritted teeth.

Rhaenys sighed. "We are alone here, husband. You can speak the plain through as we both know it."

Despite her expectant look, he said nothing.

"Rhaenyra's children are not of your blood."

Corlys looked down into the fire, pain and bitterness evident in his eyes.