[ A shadow moves, and Aemond's eye opens to find her turned away towards the open air. Granting him a slice of privacy. His eyes close again to rest the moment, the image of her is burned into the backs of his eyelids. How she'd been looking at him in a way he'd never looked at him before. Transfixed. Moments and thoughts knocking together as she tries to explain herself while he remains unmoved. The images of her meld back into fragments of a dream.
She'd noticed him as they broke fast, of course she had. There'd never been a moment their entire lives that she did not fret over him and his siblings. If not the threat of a contested succession, it's literally anything else. Poison, plague, assassins, kidnappings. They'd all suffered her paranoia for years, only ever mounting since that night on Driftmark when he'd lost his eye.
He should have noticed it this morning when she spoke to him. It was in her eyes then. He should have said something better to avail her worry. Before the thought took seed and festered in her. She'd have listened to him, she usually does. If he hadn't gotten in his own way, if only.
The painful ache still in his one hand as he gently fixes himself back into his breeches. He feels a heavy heat on his back, head swimming. If he'd seemed unwell before, it could only look worse now that he has been made to abandon his mounting pleasure. Blood left from boil to simmer. By the time she turns back around he is pulling himself upright. Trying to briefly recall hearing her knock. Maybe he'd just been hoping it was his maidservant who would know well enough to just have gone away. ]
I wasn't in here dying of a summer fever, [ he lashes, the exasperation present in his voice. Looking her in the eye still half hunched onto the weight of one arm, the other draped across his lap. Hair a mess as he forces a breath through his nose. As if he can will himself into a quick composure. But she does not look at him in scrutiny. He has done nothing wrong. Had she been looking in admiration?
The regret is immediate. He looks down again as if suddenly remembering that he is her son. That she is owed her worries. A beat passing as he wipes at the sweat collected above his lip.] I'm sorry I had worried you.
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She'd noticed him as they broke fast, of course she had. There'd never been a moment their entire lives that she did not fret over him and his siblings. If not the threat of a contested succession, it's literally anything else. Poison, plague, assassins, kidnappings. They'd all suffered her paranoia for years, only ever mounting since that night on Driftmark when he'd lost his eye.
He should have noticed it this morning when she spoke to him. It was in her eyes then. He should have said something better to avail her worry. Before the thought took seed and festered in her. She'd have listened to him, she usually does. If he hadn't gotten in his own way, if only.
The painful ache still in his one hand as he gently fixes himself back into his breeches. He feels a heavy heat on his back, head swimming. If he'd seemed unwell before, it could only look worse now that he has been made to abandon his mounting pleasure. Blood left from boil to simmer. By the time she turns back around he is pulling himself upright. Trying to briefly recall hearing her knock. Maybe he'd just been hoping it was his maidservant who would know well enough to just have gone away. ]
I wasn't in here dying of a summer fever, [ he lashes, the exasperation present in his voice. Looking her in the eye still half hunched onto the weight of one arm, the other draped across his lap. Hair a mess as he forces a breath through his nose. As if he can will himself into a quick composure. But she does not look at him in scrutiny. He has done nothing wrong. Had she been looking in admiration?
The regret is immediate. He looks down again as if suddenly remembering that he is her son. That she is owed her worries. A beat passing as he wipes at the sweat collected above his lip.] I'm sorry I had worried you.