[ It's difficult imagining himself a fixture at this table without sitting where his mother sits, his father's seat. Becoming an adviser never truly struck an interest, but a king. A regent even. Though those were always treasonous fantasies. Where he and his mother know that the throne is promised to another and likely he to not stand in this chamber at all when the time comes. Even more lingers underneath the what if among what ifs that still whisper under lord's breaths when their father finally takes his last breath.

He often tries to wash his mind of such things. Then again, Aemond has proven rather treasonous lately in the company of his mother. Of which he holds back as he looks over at her with a gentle nod, shifting back into his chair to relax as he had before.]

Thank you for allowing me to attend.

[ It feels fake, like a play they have to put on between them. Even now in a closed and empty chamber. Pretending to just be a mother and a son. But when he looks at her, it's impossible not to see the rest of it. Nor is it to try and not speak on it.

He wets his lips and composes his gaze back at the table before drawing back to her. ] I think if there would have been more protest, they probably would have balked at how simple it would be to just fly you to Oldtown.