Draeghar took on a stoney expression, his eyes glittering like amethysts in the pale, stifled light of the room. “Then I'll say my piece without bandying back-and-forth.” This will take some explanation, or he'll think me a greedy, ungrateful git.
“I envy you. Not for your realm or wars waged or any great thing that men would call a conqueror's legacy, but the family you have grown. I know how people spoke of your wife, but I see what she was to you: the woman who gave you a son, and that is a rare gift, your grace. One that I cannot know.”
“The gods saw fit to make me overflow with life, but unable to give it to another. So I must watch as children play and then grow into men, while I cannot be a father. Instead, I protect your family – our family.”
“But Aenys is not old enough yet to rule, and my brother, your uncle Maegor, is a ruthless man.” His thick jaw tightened as the old dragon recalled the blades pulled and the edict given by his brother twelve years ago.
“Would that you were with me – us – for many decades more, but I fear for your son's future if this illness worsens.” A true sadness not many heard, pulled at his voice. He had lost so many loves over the year trying to bear children, and many friends had died since then. “If you should leave us, there are none to wield that blade. It is a symbol of his claim, and Aenys cannot yet lift it.”
“If you wish for him to one day hold it and claim his rightful place on the throne, it must be used to defend him before that time.” Draeghar allowed the words to hang in the air as he took in a deep breath.
“Pretenders will come for Aenys, and that sword cannot defend him if it is not wielded. It should not be used as an ornament when the boy's protection is required. Let Aegon's, Aemon's, and your legacy defend him. Let that blade keep harm from the crown prince in the hands of someone you trust..." And sadly, he added, "should you leave us.”
It was true. The king could hardly deny that Maegor, a family in the South, the bloody Dragonstone whelp that Mathis follows like a stray dog, or seven-forbid the iron islanders sprouted wings and flew to destroy King's Landing and his son with it.
“You believe my hand to be the best in protecting your son, so put blackfyre in my hands to defend him to the fullest."
He nodded his head, acknowledging the boldness of the request. But the king likely knew the issue in holding a blade such as that at a realm-wide tournament. It was just a likely to be stolen and used to proclaim legitimate rule as it was to be carried back to King's Landing, but why take the risk? If Viserys thought Draeghar wanted the throne, he could make the blade's fate known to the small council, his strict direction for its use, and that it still belonged to his son once he could defend himself with it.
“Consider it, your grace. My life is devoted to the king before me, and the children he possesses. I've worn this white for you, at your request. You believed me an honest man to defend you when I took vows, and it is still so.” Rigid and fully expecting to be beaten for his candor, Draeghar still felt it necessary to speak with the king so bluntly. As ever, there was no lie in him.
And if the king bothered to pay the briefest moment of attention - as it was hard to miss - there was great love for Aenys in Draeghar's tone; a father's love.