In the span of five seconds, she has learned everything she needs to know about Aemond and more. Proud to a fault, not unlike her, and unwilling to dodge a slight even when they are surrounded by unknown dangers. They're both so enamored with their argument that even the sound of other creatures making their way through the maze doesn't stir her. She meets his dangerous stare head-on, clutching the dagger he gave her with every intention of using it if she must.
"Ao dakogon naejot mīsagon aōhon," the words come spilling out before she can think about them. Rhaenyra can tolerate the barbs that are meant for her but the ones that come for her father cause her annoyance to bubble up into a simmering rage. She doesn't pull the blade because he's right, she would have the advantage on the draw.
Her answer to his challenge isn't a smile but a pointed look that would command obedience from anyone else. She thrusts a hand out so the sheathed dagger thumps against his chest, returning the only guarantee of her survival through this trial while maintaining eye contact. Pitiful as her knife might be, she can use it knowing it didn't come from the belt of someone who craves to end her life. "You misunderstand. I wanted to return this to you. You need it more than I," she utters and once he takes it back, she palms her own. "Kesrio syt ao'll ojughagon tolī than nykeā laes rūsīr ȳzaldrīzes raqagon bona."
"If you mean to frighten me you've failed, and if you intended to kill me you would have done so. I know your face now; you won't be given a second chance to take it." Brother or not, she has no intention of dying before claiming her birthright. Her anger shifts when he speaks of mistakes and their shared parentage but, rather than sympathize, her temperament borders on annoyance. "My siblings are children," she concludes without distinction, she could be talking about their youth or Aemond's demeanor right now. Either way, when she's said her piece, she turns on a heel and walks away from him, fully intending to leave him to his rage and misery.
But she pauses and glances over her shoulder, murmuring: "I'm finding a way out, not turning away. For the sheer purpose of proving you wrong." That she needs his help. Unwise, maybe, to turn away from one so adept with a blade but she's grown weary of all her detractors. Nothing will ever truly silence them, but she can silence this one. With everything that has gone on thus far, the last thing she wants to confront is the uncertainty brought on by a brother grown.
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"Ao dakogon naejot mīsagon aōhon," the words come spilling out before she can think about them. Rhaenyra can tolerate the barbs that are meant for her but the ones that come for her father cause her annoyance to bubble up into a simmering rage. She doesn't pull the blade because he's right, she would have the advantage on the draw.
Her answer to his challenge isn't a smile but a pointed look that would command obedience from anyone else. She thrusts a hand out so the sheathed dagger thumps against his chest, returning the only guarantee of her survival through this trial while maintaining eye contact. Pitiful as her knife might be, she can use it knowing it didn't come from the belt of someone who craves to end her life. "You misunderstand. I wanted to return this to you. You need it more than I," she utters and once he takes it back, she palms her own. "Kesrio syt ao'll ojughagon tolī than nykeā laes rūsīr ȳzaldrīzes raqagon bona."
"If you mean to frighten me you've failed, and if you intended to kill me you would have done so. I know your face now; you won't be given a second chance to take it." Brother or not, she has no intention of dying before claiming her birthright. Her anger shifts when he speaks of mistakes and their shared parentage but, rather than sympathize, her temperament borders on annoyance. "My siblings are children," she concludes without distinction, she could be talking about their youth or Aemond's demeanor right now. Either way, when she's said her piece, she turns on a heel and walks away from him, fully intending to leave him to his rage and misery.
But she pauses and glances over her shoulder, murmuring: "I'm finding a way out, not turning away. For the sheer purpose of proving you wrong." That she needs his help. Unwise, maybe, to turn away from one so adept with a blade but she's grown weary of all her detractors. Nothing will ever truly silence them, but she can silence this one. With everything that has gone on thus far, the last thing she wants to confront is the uncertainty brought on by a brother grown.