[ Much is different. They aren't the same, either of them, at least not as they were when she was young, barely a woman, and he not yet a man.
She might have said these things, another time. Not now. She lifts out of her curtsy, hands drawing to her side. Her gaze rests on him, evaluating.
Briefly, she shifts her weight, not sure what to say, what to do with herself.
But then.
Then, with a sharp intake of air, Helaena takes the initiative — she spans the difference, that gulf — and wraps her arms around him. Lightly at first, then grasping. Almost too hard, too close to violence for one that looks so gentle and insubstantial herself.
It's the first hug she's given in many moons, probably her last to Daeron on one of his visits. She avoids touch much of the time. Preference, some latent disgust of having another's skin on hers. Even as a small child, she often tried to navigate away from their grasping mother. Queen Alicent always tried to get so close. She seemed jealous of every interaction between her middle children, her favorite of the four, eager to separate them as they aged, ventured too close to adulthood and further from her.
Her face presses into his jerkin, the ebony jacket that covers it. He smells just as he used to, beneath the musk of adulthood. Dragon, sweat. Baby brother. So dear to her.
She closes her eyes. If he holds her in kind, her face will rest into the warm crook of his neck. ]
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She might have said these things, another time. Not now. She lifts out of her curtsy, hands drawing to her side. Her gaze rests on him, evaluating.
Briefly, she shifts her weight, not sure what to say, what to do with herself.
But then.
Then, with a sharp intake of air, Helaena takes the initiative — she spans the difference, that gulf — and wraps her arms around him. Lightly at first, then grasping. Almost too hard, too close to violence for one that looks so gentle and insubstantial herself.
It's the first hug she's given in many moons, probably her last to Daeron on one of his visits. She avoids touch much of the time. Preference, some latent disgust of having another's skin on hers. Even as a small child, she often tried to navigate away from their grasping mother. Queen Alicent always tried to get so close. She seemed jealous of every interaction between her middle children, her favorite of the four, eager to separate them as they aged, ventured too close to adulthood and further from her.
Her face presses into his jerkin, the ebony jacket that covers it. He smells just as he used to, beneath the musk of adulthood. Dragon, sweat. Baby brother. So dear to her.
She closes her eyes. If he holds her in kind, her face will rest into the warm crook of his neck. ]
Will you stay long?