[ It is this morning that Aemond does not appear to break his fast with the rest of his family. Not to appear throughout the morning until the convening of the small council, which he had already petitioned himself to be a part of. He would appear in the chamber room long before anyone else, waiting patiently beside the window for the time to pass.
Despite his notions of desiring no peace, the morning had been pressing. For everything he had intended to do stripped for time in his own meticulously kept schedule. Would not have had accounted for all the time he'd spent lustfully chasing after his mother. Hard to regret it, though he disliked the distraction it gave once his attention had been culled to something actually important.
Skipping a morning meal proved profitable to make up. Leaving him time to arrive there early, almost as overcompensating for the fact that he was granted the ability to attend the small council. Something more often offered to his brother, who likely squandered every opportunity he'd been granted so far. The second son more determined to make the best of it.
His head turns as he hears footsteps linger closer and closer down the hall. Wondering which of the council is to arrive first, only to find that it is the Queen herself. His expression then changes, something wry and soft. Almost as he means to speak something uncouth when shortly behind him arrives the Hand himself. Aemond's expression falls and hardens as he wets his lips.]
Good morrow, mother. Grandfather. [ He greets instead, his hands tucking themselves behind his back as he departs the window to take a seat at the table. ]
no subject
Despite his notions of desiring no peace, the morning had been pressing. For everything he had intended to do stripped for time in his own meticulously kept schedule. Would not have had accounted for all the time he'd spent lustfully chasing after his mother. Hard to regret it, though he disliked the distraction it gave once his attention had been culled to something actually important.
Skipping a morning meal proved profitable to make up. Leaving him time to arrive there early, almost as overcompensating for the fact that he was granted the ability to attend the small council. Something more often offered to his brother, who likely squandered every opportunity he'd been granted so far. The second son more determined to make the best of it.
His head turns as he hears footsteps linger closer and closer down the hall. Wondering which of the council is to arrive first, only to find that it is the Queen herself. His expression then changes, something wry and soft. Almost as he means to speak something uncouth when shortly behind him arrives the Hand himself. Aemond's expression falls and hardens as he wets his lips.]
Good morrow, mother. Grandfather. [ He greets instead, his hands tucking themselves behind his back as he departs the window to take a seat at the table. ]