𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀HE COULD HAVE LEFT IT THERE, kept his uncle in the dark, left him to wonder what he'd meant, or not, and not wasted another breath or thought on it, or on gwayne altogether, but gwayne's continued ignorance, which he was nigh certain was merely pretend and his uncle knew exactly what he was talking about, and denial only further fuelled the rage that had been brewing inside of him, hidden deep beneath the surface, nigh forgotten for a long amount of time, for far longer than it should've. but even amidst that rapidly increasing ire, aemond could not bring himself to say it more plainly, not when the matter was so insignificant and pathetic , when he shouldn't even be concerning himself with something so minuscule, even less now that he was older. he'd never wanted to go to oldtown to begin with — in fact, he had taken offence to it then, to his mother's audacity to even suggest sending him away, getting rid of him as she'd done with the youngest son. his place was in king's landing, he had known that already then, and naught had changed about that. truly, it had all worked out in aemond's favour in the end, and yet . . .

“ playing the fool to avoid matters you are not ready to deal with may have worked to silence my mother seven years ago, but it will not convince me. ” he was not even certain what alicent had made of it — she had never brought it up again, and that had been the end of it. his words should've been enough of a hint, but in the case that they weren't, he continued, “ i suppose it would be a reasonable assumption to make that the raven got lost, but that would not explain why it it still sits cawing its head off in the rookery now. ”

aemond's quietly calm demeanour could only ever add to the elder's aggravation, ever hoping for someone who might rise up to meet him and bite back, or share in the anger that took hold of him from the slightest provocation. but where aegon's moods were fickle, changing rapidly from one moment to the next, aemond possessed a composure that he had never been able to replicate. he knew that his brother's calm did not mean he felt no ire, only that it burned cold while his own felt like flames would burst from beneath skin. a brief satisfaction rose up as aemond finally reacted, yet it faded just as swiftly. the words were an echo of those he'd heard before from the lips of others in their family, ones he would like to claim to be numb to and yet they still find their mark as intended. swaying slightly upon feet, the impression that a physical blow had been struck, though it was likely only a result of the wine that saturated his bloodstream.

returning to his own empty goblet sat upon the far end of the table from aemond, silence lingered as he reached for whatever remained of the wine, spilling half of what he poured over his own hand and the table below, but if he noticed, he seemed not to care.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ HE WOULD BE LYING if he claimed that there wasn't some form of satisfaction to seeing aegon's reaction —  a twisted kind, a sick pleasure in watching the light vanish from his eyes, trickle from violet hues like the spilled wine making its way to the table's edge in a narrow rivulet of thick scarlet droplets now, when before it had burned all too brightly with that well-known flame of rage, one that would be half as prone to showing its face if aegon didn't ask for it, didn't need to be taken down a notch when he let his temper run its course like that, nigh caused the corner of his mouth to curl upwards. but all he did was seize up his elder brother and keep him locked in a cold, blank gaze, trailing his figure to the table, unflinching as the jug slammed against the wood and filled the room with noise.

all too gladly, he would have heeded the request and left right then, let aegon wallow in self-pity and drink until the morrow — then wallow some more in the deserved consequences of his nights spent drinking far beyond thirst. it would've done naught but been in aemond's favour; to not see, nor hear from him until at least the noon as he slept off his inebriation, plenty of time to run errands without that agitating voice sending ripples of a rapidly forming ache through his temples, or his clueless brother breathing uselessly down his neck, asking what he's doing, where he's been, tampering with plans he did not fully understand, and wasn't expected to understand. aegon wasn't expected to do anything, but leave aemond be, accept that some things were beyond his capabilities, and leave them to his little brother to handle. trust him with that much.

frustrated rage sank its claws deeper into his chest, pulling, unfurling rapidly, the urge to kick the chair behind him and shatter the wood suddenly all too tempting, but that was how aegon would handle such sentiments, and how he'd just been handling them, ravaging and ranting into the stillness of eve. and aemond never would be aegon. equally tempting was the knowledge of the door to his right, the promise of at least of semblance of peace until the following day that lay beyond it, but no, if he was already serving his brother necessary reminders tonight, he might as well seize the opportunity to also remind him that he was not one to be pushed around, to heed orders — he did what needed to be done, and he did it efficiently, more than that, but he did it on his own accord. his brother could have his throne, his idling about with his drinks and his whores and treat each day like a feast to honour whatever the fuck he deemed worth celebrating on that particular day, but aemond would have this. the freedom to make his own decisions, to what he did best; strategise, plan, then climb aback vhagar and set off towards the sky to execute.

“ you are quiet all of a sudden, brother. ” was all he said after a moment of pressing silence that lingered palpably between them, charged with the raw current of a brewing thunderstorm, broken up only by the continuous crackling of the fireplace, an observation stated calmly across the table, eye still fixated upon his brother, lingering for an equally long amount of time as before the silence had come to an end, before shifting down as he reclaimed his seat, smoothening out the wine-stained black fabric of his sleeve. it hadn't been deliberately provocative — there was no need, aegon would rile himself up enough on his own, it didn't need aemond's sharp words for that when his presence already may do the trick now that he'd opted to overstay his welcome, but, still, the mutter that followed could not be suppressed, not this time, “ it seems the gods have a heart, after all. ”

fury, pure and silver, you grip it tight inside, like a knife, it glints in your eye.

ICEWALLED. an independent & private portrayal of LAURENCE LENNOX-HALL from cg drew's hazelthorn. canon / canon-divergent depiction, inspired by book and own headcanons, able to be written into a multitude of verses. dark & triggering themes present, crafted by cae.