[ No peace is spared as the council members begin to file in and take their seats. Aemond sinks into his chair only after his mother and grandsire take their seats. Expression cooled as he addresses the two of them, resting his arms along the chair. ]
I'm glad for the opportunity. Tis not one I would waste. [ He doesn't look her in the eye, more so caught by the window of skin carved out by the draping of her dress. Though able to maintain his composure once the Hand offers a nudge of encouragement his way. It's not as though her presence is enough to make him bashful, though perhaps more painfully aware. Perceptiveness hovering on how she moves out of her corner of his eye.
If there is any struggle otherwise, he doesn't show it apart from the wood creaking as he shifts in his chair. Taking greeting from Ser Tyland and Lord Wylde, Lord Beesbury shortly in tow with the Grand Maester. Everyone settling and setting their spheres as conversations carried into the halls idle and turn to the meeting at hand.
He knows his matter not to be an important one, nor does he expect to need to speak first. Would remain a silent fixture at his mother's side. Only ever so breaking his attention at the wandering cup bearer that fills their cups. He hasn't touched his cup. Still but for one finger of one hand digging at the grooves of his chair as Lord Beesbury drones on about port taxation. With the entire table entirely checked out or pretending to be intently focused, does he finally glance over at her.]
no subject
I'm glad for the opportunity. Tis not one I would waste. [ He doesn't look her in the eye, more so caught by the window of skin carved out by the draping of her dress. Though able to maintain his composure once the Hand offers a nudge of encouragement his way. It's not as though her presence is enough to make him bashful, though perhaps more painfully aware. Perceptiveness hovering on how she moves out of her corner of his eye.
If there is any struggle otherwise, he doesn't show it apart from the wood creaking as he shifts in his chair. Taking greeting from Ser Tyland and Lord Wylde, Lord Beesbury shortly in tow with the Grand Maester. Everyone settling and setting their spheres as conversations carried into the halls idle and turn to the meeting at hand.
He knows his matter not to be an important one, nor does he expect to need to speak first. Would remain a silent fixture at his mother's side. Only ever so breaking his attention at the wandering cup bearer that fills their cups. He hasn't touched his cup. Still but for one finger of one hand digging at the grooves of his chair as Lord Beesbury drones on about port taxation. With the entire table entirely checked out or pretending to be intently focused, does he finally glance over at her.]